The Misuse of Alchemy Series
by Masamune Reforged
Summary: Sex, it's better with an alchemist! Yaoi lemons and comedy one-shots with various alchemy kinks and themes. All the characters you could shake a stick at, pairings as numerous as the sea. Ed, Roy, human Al, armor Al, Envy, Wrath, Russell, Fletcher etc
1. 01 Misuse of Automail Transmutation

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't fucking own that show, that manga, or those characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Men getting it on with men. Lots of it, and in kinky style too. This one's just some straight forward yaoi though, just for starters.

These are all for ZaKai. Without you pushing me along and helping me all this time, I'd probably have stopped writing a long time ago. Thank you for everything. Also, goddamn it, why couldn't you just write some of these alchemy kinks into your stories so I wouldn't have to!?

Misuse of Alchemy 1

Misuse of Automail Transmutation

"Hey, Al! I'm home!"

The lock jangled, the door opened with a bang, and Edward Elric marched into the tiny foyer of the Central City apartment he and his brother were sharing; bringing no small amount of commotion and mud with him.

"The funniest thing happened at headquarters today!" Ed yelled, frantically working his grimed up boots on the face of the kitten-decorated welcome mat Al had insisted on buying for the place. "I mean, it still mostly sucked, but–well–you know how that old bastard Mustang is always falling asleep on the job?" Ed's words ran out all together as he continued on in excitement; carelessly flinging his soaked, red jacket over a chair and running a hand through his wet, blond hair.

The unfortunate neighbours flanking this apartment could tell you, Ed didn't need to be excited to be loud. "Well, today that old bastard was sleeping right after lunch, and–"

Ed stopped. Al hadn't answered him yet, and this fact somehow bubbled up through the foam of enthusiasm that had Ed nearly frothing at the mouth. Even if his brother was reading in their room, he'd normally at least give a 'welcome back'...

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the silence, Ed closed the front door and made a quick round of the apartment. It was empty alright. Al must have gone out shopping or something like that, he concluded. Ed's stomach growled as he took a look in the nearly empty cabinets. At least he hoped Al had gone out shopping...

After a quick minute, Ed turned from the empty kitchen shelves, towards the open, set aside area joining off of it, where a couch and table combo made a sort of living room. He looked out the window at the puddle and umbrella dotted street below their apartment building, looking for Al. But, he couldn't spot anyone that looked like a massive suit of living armor. Ed felt a little vexed. He'd really wanted to tell Al that story...

Instead, Ed was forced to settle on flopping down onto the couch and replaying the scene in his head for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

It was no secret that Roy Mustang liked to take his catnaps at work, whether they were five minutes or five hours long. People seemed to think it was from being out late with the ladies or from secretly working to the wee hours of the morning from home, but Ed was pretty sure that Mustang just fell asleep so much because he was a lazy, old, manipulative jerkoff...

Well, at least the man had gotten some comeuppance today...

It had been a little while after lunch. Hawkeye had been out on some business, and Ed had needed to help Havoc go through paperwork because Kain Fuery was sick. Ed had snuck more than a few nasty glances over at the big desk where Mustang lay dozing, head resting on his arms, and tried to kill the boredom by thinking up nasty ways to wake up his commanding officer.

Then General Hakuro had shone up. He hadn't called or made any indication that he'd be paying Roy a visit, probably hoping to catch Roy in an embarrassing situation. And that was exactly what had happened. Mustang just lay there, oblivious, while Hakuro told Ed and Havoc to not bother, that he'd have the pleasure of waking up the colonel himself. Ed had needed to bite his lip to keep from laughing while Hakuro approached the sleeping colonel's desk, the unconscious man letting out a dreamy grunt and some incoherent babble.

Hakuro had stood over Mustang's desk and cleared his throat several times. When this proved fruitless, the old general simply took a deep breath, raised his hands up slightly, and brought them slamming down on Mustang's desk as he screamed, **"Mustang, the Fuhrer is here!"**

Well, that had done the trick. Ed hadn't been able to stifle all of his laughter as Mustang woke with a start, pushing a stack of papers sideways off onto the floor, jumping to his feet in a salute, then blinking around in confusion until realizing that even though Bradley wasn't there (and thank god he wasn't!), Hakuro was. Mustang had turned to salute Hakuro properly when it had caught Ed's eyes.

It seemed that the guy who'd coined the term "morning wood" wasn't as big a fan of long afternoon naps as Roy Mustang was...

Ed chuckled to himself. Long...

Well, it certainly had been very long... And pretty thick too... Well, maybe some of it had been due to the fabric of Roy's tented uniform, but even then... it was a pretty damn impressive tent...

Ed had always wondered how it was possible that Mustang was such a ladies' man. He had no real experience himself yet, but Ed was pretty sure that ladies would be able to tolerate Mustang's arrogant, annoying, bossy, lazy, manipulative attitude to get that monster inside of them. And if Roy had half the experience he was rumored to have, then they were sure in for a long, hard, sweat drenched romp of-

Ed's train of thought ended right there as he suddenly felt the all too familiar signs of awakening arousal in his body. Knowing he was alone, Ed indulged his body's desires by running his flesh hand over the forming lump in his tight leather pants. It didn't take more than a minute before he was hard just from rubbing himself through the smooth, taut fabric. Despite his small stature, Ed was a full blown teenager now, with all the full blown hormonal activities of one. Since he'd first discovered the pleasure of self-gratification a few months ago, not a day had gone by where Ed didn't get himself off at least once... and usually twice...

Ed took a long, scrupulous stare at the apartment door. He had no idea when Al would be home, and the idea of being caught by his little brother should have been enough to curb his horny impetus. But, somehow, that image of Mustang standing at attention in his office with his massive dick tenting his pants was unwilling to compromise with rationale.

He'd rubbed out quick ones before... And, besides, he could usually hear Al coming... He was sorta made of armor and all...

Ed was just too worked up and horny to stop now, so, instead, he decided to be quick about it. First, as it was getting sorta hot in the apartment, Ed took his shirt off. In just his black, sleeveless shirt now, Ed undid his pants and, because he didn't like the feeling of underwear, had his teenage cock in hand immediately.

It felt great to finally touch himself, and Ed took his time as he slowly worked his one flesh hand over his cock, paying special attention to the sensitive part right at the tip. Although his automail made it impossible to use his right arm to pleasure himself, Ed had learned that he liked touching other, less sensory parts of his body with his artificial limb. The feel of the automail on his stomach made him flinch momentarily, and the cold metal made his nipples rock hard as he teased them, all while building a steady, faster pace with his flesh hand. He looked down at himself and tried to make a mental comparison with Mustang.

Now, Ed wasn't gay... Well, maybe he was... But he didn't know for sure. Frankly, he didn't care. Sometimes he thought about women when he masturbated, but other times it was men. Ed didn't see the big deal. He could see the beauty in both sexes, and he really didn't give two shits what society had to say about his preferences. And, right now, his preference was to imagine the long, hard dick that belonged to Roy Mustang.

For the record, it wasn't the first time the Fullmetal Alchemist had used his commander as the subject of his fantasies...

_He's such a bastard_, Ed thought to himself... _But he is pretty hot, I suppose..._

Ed had to admit though, even though he couldn't stand the man, something about his personality gave off the aura of a confident, dominant, experienced lover. Somewhere between his corny jokes and cracks at Ed's height, Roy Mustang oozed 'I'm going to fuck you like an animal'.

Ed let out a low moan as he imagined what Roy would do to him with that huge tool of his, and he began to leak pre-cum from his own sex. Instinctively, he wiped it up with his flesh hand and brought it to his lips. Ed still had that slightly sweet, youthful taste about his spunk, and he actually enjoyed the practice of eating his own, even though it had started out as a way to keep his perverse activities secret from Al. Al always did the laundry...

Ed gave a worried look at the door, but his caution was quickly swept away in a storm of horniness and fantasy. The deepest, most twisted mental images he could muster spun through his head as Ed continued to frantically masturbate. Images of Roy standing at attention over him with his hard cock tenting his uniform, images of himself running his hands over that huge tent and hearing the man groan, images of Mustang bending him savagely over his desk and thrusting into him...

Breathing heavily now, Ed began to slowly trail his automail hand down to his pants. Scooting his hips up into the air, he worked his pants down almost past his knees, the smooth couch blissful against his bare skin. A steady flow of pre-cum had started to make a mess on his flesh hand, and again Ed made to lick it off, imagining that it was off of something longer and harder than his fingers...

And that's when the idea hit him. Ed stopped suddenly, his gleaming fingers almost at his parted lips, buck naked from the waist down and hard as a rock.

He did have something longer and harder than his fingers... or, well, they were certainly harder... and they _could_ be made longer or thicker or...

Looking down at his automail arm, Ed gulped as a hundred new possibilities suddenly flooded his mind.

_This is so wrong and fucked up... _ he thought to himself... _but I'm totally going to do it!_

Ed shut his eyes, clapped his hands together, and imagined something that was long, hard, and that he pictured jutting out onto his waiting lips from Roy Mustang's fly. Opening his eyes, Ed raised up his automail arm and nearly burst out laughing. Everything was normal until around the wrist area, an eight inch metal boner sticking out where a hand should have been. Ed looked down at his own erection, then back at the transmuted automail dildo. It was a good deal bigger than his own, and it still wasn't as big as Mustang's (or as big as Ed liked to think Mustang was).

A spattering of his pre-cum lingered on the transmuted dildo from where he'd clapped his hands together, and Ed instinctively brought it to his lips to lick it off when he saw it. The metal was cold and tasted bitter, but, as he licked it, Ed realized this was the closest to doing another man with his mouth as he'd ever been...

That would have to change...

Ed began to lick and suck on his new toy, quickly growing numb to the metallic taste. He opened his mouth and hastily tried to put as much inside as he could; but it was impossible to fit it all, and he wound up gagging and coughing in no time.

Somehow, Ed could hear Mustang's voice in his head, chastising him, _"Of course a little squirt like you couldn't do it with a man. You'd never be able to take it!"_

This got Ed worked up, both sexually and mentally. He could too! He hated to think of himself as incapable, especially after having joined the military and traveling so much with his brother. He knew he still had to grow some before he'd look like a true adult, but that didn't mean he couldn't do adult things. He could.

A sheen of saliva coated the top part of the automail dildo, and Ed recalled that he'd once overheard some soldiers talking about how you needed to use lube or something like that before doing some sort of sex or another... Ed put the bulbous head of his new sex toy in his mouth again, this time trying to coat it with as much of his spit as he could. As he spat on it, Ed couldn't help but feel a little dirty. It was a feeling that somehow felt very sexy.

This entire time he'd been jerking his own erection with the same, furious, untempered teenage passion that drove him to want something as big as Mustang's inside of him. His flesh hand was almost a blur, pumping up and down over his rock hard sex, and, for the first time, Ed found himself working to hold back his orgasm, enjoying how all these feelings were building up inside of him. Even though his body screamed for release, Ed fixedly pressed on so as not to get off just yet.

He began to sweat a little, his breath coming infrequently from where he worked the metal dildo in his mouth. Ed was focusing so much on disciplining his body that his mind was beginning to run wild yet again. Mental images began flying through his head, both fantasy and memory, and there was no stopping or controlling them. Each time a new, erotic image came to his mind, Ed felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

Mustang saluting with his erection tenting his pants, wearing just a white t-shirt on the ravaged parade grounds, strong hands pushing him against the bathroom mirror, a big breasted woman dropping to her knees to go down on him, Envy standing over him and sneering, Mustang stroking his cheek and fucking him with long, fluid stabs of his huge cock.

Ed's entire body suddenly went rigid. His breath caught in his throat. The teen stopped himself just at the last moment. With an effort that made him cringe, Ed forced himself to halt the pleasurable motions with his flesh hand, stymieing the growing crush of hormones as best he could with a stiff squeeze on his shaft. A massive glob of pre-cum escaped from his head, and Ed knew he'd almost cum right then.

Swallowing with a dry throat, Ed took his hand–or the dildo–out of his mouth. Not only was it slick, but Ed was slightly impressed with how far he'd been able to get the thing in his mouth. A good, solid six inches of the metal length had at least some of his spit on it. Ed's mind was instantly filled with images of how Roy's might look right afterwards, and the teen wanted nothing more than to try to get something like that inside of him as soon as possible.

Shifting on the couch, Ed brought the automail dildo down toward his naked waist. It was a funny angle, but with a bit of squirming and straining he was able to bring the tip of the thing right to his virgin entrance.

Ed forced himself to relax, remembering the times he'd used his fingers, and began to push the cold metal probe inside. He stopped quickly though, unable to break the tight ring of muscle that simply did not yet know it could fit anything like that inside.

Ed took several deep breaths and thought it over. Should he stop? Maybe he should just get himself off with his hand like he always had... maybe just use one finger? He'd feel a little silly, now that he'd transformed his automail arm into a dildo he couldn't possibly take... All because he'd tried to model it after Mustang's freaking enormous bulge...

Mustang... Mustang wouldn't have him quit now. No, he'd probably try to goad Ed into taking his monster, impossible or not. And, if that didn't work, well, Mustang wasn't the type to quit until he got what he wanted... Ed wouldn't have called it resolve, but he was certainly aware of the building feeling inside of him as he imagined just how Roy would have him deal with his... size problem...

Ed shut his eyes. He felt the cold metal again and the way his saliva stuck to his lewdest parts when it came in contact with his skin. Roy would hold him down and just spear him. Roy would hold him in place and feed him that goddamn trouser anaconda inch by inch. Ed began to push with his arm and relaxed his lower body as best he could. Roy would make him take it, make him love it.

Ed gave a terrific push with the automail, hit something inside of him that sent a ripple of sharp pleasure throughout his body, cried out, arched his back, and began to shoot his load up into the air all at the same time.

At the same time that Al came home, that is.

-end

Next: More metal sex? Armorcest? No. That'd mean I have to keep some kind of continuity between these pieces, and that is not going to happen. Enjoy the random smut. Please let me know what you thought.

I have a whole slew of these things sitting in my head...


	2. 02 Misuse of Personal Lube Transmutation

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't fucking own that show, that manga, or those characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Men getting it on with men. Lots of it, and in kinky style too. This one's Roy x Ed, maybe more comedy than smut, maybe just a little bit of exhibitionism.

This one's also for ZaKai

Misuse of Alchemy 2

Misuse of Personal Lubricant Transmutation

Roy followed the short, blond youth down the hallway. It was all he could do to keep his eyes off Edward Elric's enticing behind. Roy loved when Ed dressed in uniform. At least one of them liked it... Ed hated the blue military uniform (partly because it was hastily shrunken down in order to fit him—they didn't make extra small military uniforms in Amestris), but today he had no choice.

Today was a conference for all of the top ranking military officials—State Alchemists included—and uniforms were required. It was on a weekend day, which was no fun, but it would be over after a few more boring speeches and meaningless meetings.

Ed had gotten a few steps ahead of Roy, as the older man had slowed down in his thoughts. Seeing Ed look back at him as he rounded a corner, Roy sped up his pace. He hastily returned a wave from a friendly, mustachioed old general that he couldn't remember the name of, and made a motion like he was trying to find the bathrooms, or some other place where he could fuck the living daylights out of Ed...

Roy rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. The hallway was empty, with no sign of Ed. The raven-haired colonel screwed up his face in annoyed surprise for a moment, then suddenly felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, grabbing him by the uniform and pulling him to the side. Roy gave a small, surprised yelp as he was suddenly pulled into almost complete darkness, a door shutting out almost all of the light.

Roy took a blind step forward in the darkness and was surprised when his foot came in contact with something... small, round and... plastic? Still unable to see, Roy took another step forward, only to kick yet another unknown object over. Instinctively, he waved an arm to his right, looking for a light switch. Confusion hit him when his hand quickly came in contact with a solid wall, until he reached out to his other side with the other arm and felt yet another. He idly kicked into the darkness, and the sloshing of a still-full mop bucket met his ears.

"Another supply closet?" Roy asked incredulously. "You're such a romantic..."

"It doesn't matter." Ed's voice, soft but very close to him in the darkness, made Roy jump a little. But then there came the feeling of Ed's hands running over the front of his uniform, then finding Roy's shoulders and trying to circle around them. When Roy heard Ed's voice next, it was just a soft whisper that he could almost taste on his lips. "I couldn't wait any longer."

Ed, standing on his tippy-toes no doubt, leaned forward and smashed his mouth against Roy's in a hungry kiss. The blond kissed like he ate; savagely and greedily. It was just the kind of foreplay that pleased Roy most, because they were both usually finished with the appetizers of tongue and lips after only a few minutes. Roy was a 'meat and potatoes' kind of guy.

This kiss was even shorter, causing Roy to hiss in a rare show of frustration. Ed quickly appeased his superior's mood, cupping a gloved hand against the full bulge in Roy's pants and giving a rough squeeze. "I want you to fuck me," Ed murmured lustily.

That was what Roy liked best about Ed, that open, honest, adventurous—

"Wait a second," Roy whispered over the sound of his belt buckle being undone. "We can't do that here. There's no time, and it's not—" His concerns about being found balls deep in his young, male junior were swallowed as Ed freed his sex from the pants and took him immediately into his mouth.

"You're such a nasty boy," Roy spat dirty words of encouragement, gripping Ed by his thick, blond hair instinctively, relishing in the exquisite heat as Ed sucked fervently with thick, wet sucking noises. "Ugh, you're so-" Roy couldn't think of anything else as Ed leaned forward and deftly took the entire length of the man's sex full down his throat. Vocal banter was a common part of the two outspoken men's relationship, but not when Ed was deep throating Roy like this.

Roy shut his eyes against the supply closet black and simply enjoyed it all. To think there was a time where he had needed to wait until work was over to do stuff like this... How had he ever survived like that? He was about to fully lose himself. But at that moment, Ed stopped, and Roy looked down into the teen's faintly visible blond eyes.

"I want you to fuck me," Ed demanded.

Part of Roy's brain knew this was a bad idea. They'd have to be back for more meetings in under twenty minutes, and they were already running a huge risk with just this. If anyone saw the two State Alchemists coming out of the same, tiny supply closet... Or worse, if they got too noisy (always a very real possibility with Ed's loud mouth and how hard Roy liked to fuck), they could be overheard and...

But Roy was caught up in the moment, and only said, "You're such a hot, dirty, little—OUCH!"

"Who're you callin' 'a tiny little cumdump who sucks your miserable old man dick for–"

"I didn't say that much!" Roy hissed, clapping a hand over Ed's mouth. He was thankful when Ed's furiously tight grip on his shaft slackened, but was still a little angry. "Really, you've got to learn how to control yourself in situations like this..." Roy said. But the dark-haired man could only think of one way to 'train' Ed in holding his tongue in situations like this...

But after a few unsuccessful, dry attempts, Roy was about to give up on his idea. Ed was down on his hands and knees, face almost in the mop buckets ("It stinks like chlorine, damnit!") and Roy was trying for the twentieth time to get his considerable size in Ed's... physically limited... backend...

"Fuck this..."

"Yeah, that's what we're going for, isn't it?"

"Ugh... damnit!"

Having a partner with an ass as tight as Ed's was something Roy never thought he'd be cursing. But they had to be back in only a few more minutes, and he hadn't been able to get even the tip to go in to Ed's only slightly sweat-slick butt. Roy had a feeling he could do it if he really disregarded Ed and just pushed for all he was worth, but he didn't want to hurt the smaller youth... even if he had a hunch that Ed would enjoy that kind of rough treatment under other circumstances... Either way, a blood-curdling scream from a brutal thrust was not something Roy wanted to hear... at least not here and now...

Fumbling in the dark, Roy lined up his cock with where he thought Ed should be and pushed. There was a blissfully tight pinch, a soft cry from Ed, and Roy steadied his feet as he began to slowly push forward with his hips. And then...

"To hell with this!" Roy cursed under his breath as, once again, his sex slid along the outside of Ed's ass, denying him once again. He backed up, foot banging into cleaning supplies, and began to zip up his pants in frustration. "This is impossible without lube. There's no way it'll go into such a small hole without-"

"Hey!" Ed yelled out, abruptly turning around in the darkness. "That's it!" Roy was afraid he'd earned another outburst about his height, but Ed hadn't seemed to have heard that part at all. There was a nerve-wracking jolt of noise in the small closet, and Roy wondered why the blond alchemist was suddenly... rummaging through the bottles and cans of cleaning supplies...?

"What are you doing?" Roy asked, the wonder plain in his voice. He winced at the clang of a metal can falling over onto the closet floor.

"Lube!" Ed said, as if the one word would explain it all. "Usually we use that lube stuff you buy at that little sex store, right?"

"Right..." Roy wasn't following. "But I don't exactly bring that stuff with me to State Assemblies..."

"It's water based and has some kind of cellulose compound to it, so..." Ed wasn't listening anymore. "Hydrogen, Carbon, Oxygen... The composition is easy, but the ratio..."

Something in Roy's brain clicked, and he said, almost to himself, "Don't tell me..."

"What else is in it?" Ed turned around, eyes flashing in the darkness with that determination that Roy had come to fear seeing almost as much as he was turned on by it. "Cellulose, water, what else? A sugar alcohol? A diol alcohol? What else is in that lube you buy?"

Roy was about to say something else, something maybe about how there could only be a few minutes left before the meetings would start again, or about them just waiting for later that night... or about how talking about the composition of personal lubricants was seriously killing his erection...

But he looked at Ed's eyes and just said, "Glycerin."

"Glycerin! Right! Of course!" Ed went back to mumbling to himself about various elements, often stopping to curse about how chemistry was such a pain in the ass compared to biology. Then, "Alright! That'll work... I think..."

The sound of more cans rattling, and the fact that he was completely soft now, made Roy sober enough to say, "Ed... Really... This is..."

"Shit. I can't see anything in here," Ed was deaf to him, making quite a racket with the buckets and containers. "What's this? Bleach? No, that's no good... Ah, perfect. No... wait... what does it say? Extra germ killing solution? What does that—hey, you!"

Roy had those glistening gold eyes on him again.

"I can't see anything. Be useful and give me a light!"

Roy sighed, slowly pulled out his gloves from his back pocket ("Window cleaner? No... Hey, hurry up!") and put them on. He tucked his completely withered sex back into his trousers before snapping his fingers.

The sudden light was enough to make him squint his eyes shut in the darkness, and with his concentration broken, the flame died out quickly. Ed reproached him with several sentences that nobody in the military had any business using with their superior officer, and Roy decided that when they got to the military hotel for the night he'd do Ed sans lube... and ... plus gusto...

Roy half-closed his eyes in anticipation and flicked his fingers. He focused on the spark, giving it just enough oxygen to grow, but not enough to catch the room on fire, and held his breath. Ed muttered a gruff 'thanks' and, his trousers still pooled around his feet and his military dress shirt barely covering his rear, began to pick up different bottles and read their labels.

"Lint rollers, no... Carpet scrub, maybe... Bleach, no; window cleaner, no... Oh, right on, hand soap! Hm? Gimme some more light, will ya? Amodium... better not... Chemical alchemy is such a pain in the ass compared to biological alchemy... Air freshener, no... More window cleaner?"

Finally, after what seemed like a long, sexless time, Ed pushed a bunch of the bottles and cans into the corner, leaving four and the overlarge mop bucket in front of him. He opened one of the bottles and hastily poured some into the bucket. Unscrewing another, he added only a little.

The powerful scent of chemicals from the third bottle made Roy nervous enough to ask, "Are you sure this is such a good idea? I'm not even hard anymore, you know..."

Ed turned, cocked his head, and gave a look that clearly meant, 'This is what I want to do and I'm doing it no matter what.' Then he gave a sly smirk and said, "I'll be able to fix that in no time.' Ed finished pouring the third bottle, the smell of chemicals firmly saturating the air. He added some from the fourth, and looked down at the bucket, exhaled deeply, and turned to Roy.

"Think about it this way, we won't have to buy that expensive lube stuff ever again!" Ed said cheerfully. His smile seemed to grow wider at Roy's lack of reaction.

Roy wondered if other people had to ever deal with this kind of issue with their lovers... if passionate love making sessions suddenly turned to intense knitting pattern debates, or un-negotiable fits of rummaging through cook books to look up the contents of a particular seasoning...

"Okay, here goes nothing!" Ed clapped his hands.

Roy had a feeling it was just him who had to deal with stuff quite like this...

There came a bright flash of blue light, an electric sizzle of energy, then a shout.

Then there was another shout, his own, and the sudden shock of being thoroughly doused with water. Roy's flame went out immediately, and darkness added to the confusion. His face felt covered with something slimy—it certainly wasn't water—and Roy cursed as he mopped at his face with an equally goopey uniformed arm. He instinctively snapped his fingers, but there was no spark.

"Oh... um..." Ed began sheepishly. "Guess maybe I shouldn't have added that carpet scrub after all?"

"Fullmetal," Roy began to say, a fit of anger washing over him. A meeting of all the major military heads in Amestris, and his uniform was covered in–

But it got better. "What _the hell _is that smell?"

It smelled like rotten eggs and cat food, only lemon flavored cat food...

"Um, I guess that's the lemon scent from the residue in the bucket?" Ed rationed logically, seemingly more interested in dissecting the anatomy of this blunder than reacting to it. "See? This is why I like bio alchemy more... This chemical stuff should be left to the Tringhams or someone like..."

"I-" Roy abruptly ended his own sharp words as he took a deep breath through his nose and had to focus all of his willpower on stopping himself from puking. After a moment, he regained his composure behind a sticky handkerchief and asked, "How the hell could this mess get any worse?"

The voice over the building loudspeaker system answered him, "All military officers should return to the main assembly hall, as the meetings will resume shortly."

-end Misuse of Personal Lubricant Transmutation

Misuse of Alchemy 2 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series

Notes: Thank you Johnson and Johnson for making K-Y so simple that even I could figure out a few things about its elemental structure! But, yeah, making it would be a mess... I'd imagine Amestris would be pretty advanced in chemicals and, so... yeah, window cleaner and the like... Who knows? These important details never get clarified in anime/manga...

As I said before, there will not be any continuity between these oneshots. So even though Ed and Roy are together in this one, don't expect for that to necessarily be true for future installments. Also, go fucking vote for what kinks you want done. And, more importantly, give me feedback if you can. I really like to hear what people have to say, what they enjoyed, what they didn't, what I could improve on... So, please!

Next is some Homunculi action. Yes, they count as alchemy. They were made with it, weren't they?


	3. 03 Misuse of Metallic Siblings

The Misuse of Alchemy series  
a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.  
Because sex is better with an alchemist!  
by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of the characters in it. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.  
Warnings: Some adult language, a hint at shounen-ai if you're looking for it, humor

This one's for ZaKai also.

Misuse of Alchemy 3  
Misuse of Metallic Siblings

Alphonse Elric let out a deep sigh, a hollow sound like wind blowing through a church bell, and, for a change, felt thankful for his lack of a flesh and blood body. He turned and surveyed the small apartment in Central City that he shared with his brother.

Bookshelves organized, (Ed's) laundry hanging neatly outside to dry, floor sparkling, rug freshly washed, furniture dusted, kitchen floor mopped, dishes done, refrigerator restocked, stew simmering, walls wiped.

Al beamed with tired pride. It had taken all day, but he'd gotten the place looking decent at last. Al had grown sick of living in the "Yeah, yeah. I'll take care of it later" inspired pigpen that their apartment had steadily deteriorated into since they'd moved into it. His brother didn't seem to have a problem with living like a hobo whose idea of a clean space was the least dirty box from the dumpster, Al, on the other hand... Well, honestly, Al thought swine had more standards and sense about cleanliness than Ed did...

Al collapsed onto his little stool like a ton of bricks, or a ton of steel. Either way, the miraculous little stool took it like a champ, letting out only a quiet squeak of protest as Al sat down for the first time in hours. That stool was a trooper. He looked at the couch.

The couch...

Al eyed the back of the navy blue couch with what would have been an expression bordering on hysterical intensity if his lips could curl. He'd spent almost three full hours alone cleaning that couch. He'd dusted it, scrubbed it, gone to the store and bought more stuff to scrub it with, accidentally ripped a hole in it (a suit of armor with spiked shoulders is a bitch to deal with, both in and out of battle), mended the hole, scrubbed the whole thing again, and the damn thing still looked shabby and dirty somehow.

Somehow... huh?

Freshly muddied boots, damp jackets, food coma produced drool, bloodied red overcoats, unwashed gloves smeared with lab chemicals, soil from every time Fletcher Tringham came over, innumerable spilled beverages, whatever that sticky stuff from the bottle in Ed's dresser was, and a host of crumbs so complete in their variety that the thing could have passed for an Elric's Ark of Junk Food was that 'somehow', Al reckoned.

"Ed..." Al rued with a sigh. Where on earth could he start to educate his older brother not to live like a club-wielding barbari–

Summoned like Satan, the door swung open suddenly, and Ed stomped into the apartment.

"Welcome home, brother!" Al let out a warm greeting.

"Fucking son of a cock-sucking, bitch-cunt whore!" Ed replied, or rambled, more accurately. His mouth and the language it produced were somewhat a mirror image of how he lived, and it was another thing that sent Al into shocked fits. "I swear, one of these goddamn days _I'm_ going to fuck that smug-smiling son of a–"

Ed stopped, finally taking notice of his brother, who was as catatonic as a Catholic school girl after a football player's prom night. "Er... hi, Al." Ed sucked in some breath and, when no response came, muttered, "Er- um... sorry. You know, I wasn't talking about you of course. "

An awkward silence passed between them before Ed sniffed and said, "Hey, something smells good!"

Al replied with, "Beef."

"It's what's for dinner?" Ed asked. "Really smells great."

His brother's compliments cheered him out of his shell a bit, and Al stood up off the stool. "Thanks. It's just a stew though... I didn't know what time you'd be home so—**AHH!!!**"

"AH!" Ed yelled in startled surprise, stopping two steps into the room. "Wh-what?"

"Your boots!!! Your boots!!!" Al cried miserably, for those two steps were clomped and crusted with thick brown streaks in the outline of Ed's treads. "Take off your boots!"

Seriously, it hadn't rained for two days. Where in the world had Ed managed to find so much mud?!

"Ah, geez, do I have to Al?" Ed protested. "It's just a little bit of dirt. I'll clean it up af–"

"No! No! Just– just, please! Take them off!" Al was caught between rushing for the wash rags and staying put to make sure Ed actually did as he was told. He'd _just _cleaned!!!

But Ed did comply, bending down and undoing his boots while muttering under his breath, "Seriously... are we living in Xing now?" After he had them off, producing some ripe-smelling socks with holes at the toes, Ed stood and asked, "Okay now?"

"Sorry..." Al apologized in a small voice. "It's just... you _always _say you'll clean it later and-"

"Ahh, I get it, I get it." Ed waved Al's apology away. "So that's it. Sorry, Al. You know, it's just been sorta hell being back in Central. I've got to deal with training Fletcher almost every day. Havoc keeps hassling me to go out to the bars with him. Mustang is all over my ass at work. There's just been a lot of shit going on, and..."

"I... I know," Al said, feeling guilty now. Everything his brother went through was because of this body of his, and the sacrifice Ed made to keep his younger brother from having to go through the humiliation of being a dog of the military. "I just wish you wouldn't always put it off... is all..."

"Alright then, I'll clean this up right now!" Ed said gleefully, much to Al's surprise.

However, instead of going for the closet with the broom and cleaning supplies, Ed turned around and bent down, checking out the dirt and muck he'd dragged in before saying, "No problem!" He clapped his hands together.

"No, w–"

But it was too late. A flash of blue light and a comic book POOF! signaled the simultaneous beginning and end of the transmutation, and as the light vanished, Al was horrified to see that the mess of mud had become a descending mist of dust and tiny flakes of dirt. "There we go!" Ed smiled, indicating the spot on the floor, which, to his merit, was spick and span.

"Now where's the beef?" Ed asked cheerfully, darting into the kitchen just as the small cloud of filth began to settle on Al and everything else in the room.

Al was too furious to speak. Instead, he trudged into the kitchen and watched as Ed hastily ladled a steaming portion of stew into a bowl, depositing several fluid ounces onto the counter.

"Looks great!" Ed praised, lips smacking. Al watched him grab a table spoon, look at it for a second, then change his mind and toss the unused silverware into the sink. His brother then selected a large soup spoon in its place.

Ed raised the bowl and began shoveling piping hot stew down his throat. Brown globs sprinkled his face, little tiny gravy babies drizzling to the floor as the spoon flung them fast and feverishly in the general direction of Ed's mouth. He ate on his feet, in the middle of the kitchen, while the gravy on the counter slid over the edge and down the cabinets. Ed scraped the bottom of his bowl, tossed the spoon into the sink, and then put the bowl to his lips and tilted it to deliver the death blow.

"Phah!" Ed exclaimed wordlessly, then belched. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, patted his chest with one hand, and set the empty bowl down on the counter. "That was great!" he said, then opened the fridge, leaving a mark of who-knew-what on the handle from his gloves. "Uck! You bought milk again? You know I won't drink it. But this looks cool!" He optioned for one of the bottles of fizzy sugar water that Al had earmarked for a special occasion.

"So-oh-duh, huh?" Ed read the label aloud, before tearing open the packing around the six-pack of bottles and letting it float to the kitchen floor. He took out one of the bottles and popped the cap with his automail hand, sending it flying across the room into a corner. Ed took a long chug from the bottle, leaving the rest of them out on the kitchen table. Finally, he kicked the refrigerator door, but was back out into the living room again before it had a chance to not close completely, leaving all the recently purchased groceries to spoil.

Al surveyed the kitchen with a blank face. Iron, you know, doesn't do scowls.

The gravy had cut a line halfway down the face of the drawers below the stove top.

In the other room, Ed burped again, then exclaimed, "This stuff is actually pretty fucking good."

Al closed the refrigerator door and walked out to the living room.

Some of the "pretty fucking good" stuff was already on the rug.

The rest of it continued to bubble inside the container it was trapped in, which was now standing on the bookshelf where Ed was thumbing through a book and talking to himself.

"No, we reviewed that last week..." He set the book down on a shelf other than the one it had come from, then plucked another from the shelf and leafed through it. "Solutions... reactions... no, this should be stuff Russel already taught him..." The book went back into the shelf it had come from, but spine facing out backwards. "Ah!" Ed exclaimed as he grabbed a third book and began to walk to the couch, leaving the bottle of soda forgotten on the shelf.

"You think Fletcher would like if we did fluid transmission and-"

_**"DON'T YOU DARE!!!"**_

As far as several towns away, every man, woman and child wondered in astonishment as their pets all suddenly whimpered in fear.

"Um... okay..." Ed, eyebrow raised in impossibly clueless confusion, conceded. "I won't teach him fluid transmissions if you—"

"I MEAN DON'T YOU DARE SIT DOWN ON THE COUCH WITH THAT FILTHY JACKET OF YOURS!!!" Al raged.

"My... my jacket...?" Ed tried to make sense of it all.

"I SPEND ALL DAY CLEANING THIS PLACE AND WITHIN A MINUTE YOU TURN IT INTO–INTO–INTO _**SHIT!**_" Al raged with swear words.

"Now, Al..." Ed tried to apologize.

"DO YOU THINK I JUST LIVE TO CLEAN UP AFTER YOU? AM I JUST YOUR BIG, BURNISHED BUTLER?!?!" Al raged with alliteration.

"Hey now, wait a—" Ed tried to protest.

"I AM SICK AND TIRED OF HAVING TO LIVE LIKE A MENTALLY CHALLENGED SEWER ANIMAL!" Al raged with analogies.

"Look! I'm sorry! I just-" Ed tried too late.

"WHY DO I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU LIKE SOME KIND OF LITTLE BABY?!?!" Al raged too long.

"..."

In the other room, the gravy completed its trek down the entirety of the stove front and onto the floor.

"..."

"...what did you just say?" Ed's silence was broken.

"I said that I'm sick of picking up after you like you're a little kid!" Al's fury was not.

"So I'm a little kid now, am I?" Ed's voice was threateningly calm.

"You certainly act like one often enough!" Al was too angry to care.

"Even when _I'm_ the one working my ass off under Mustang's whip all day?" Ed punched low.

"That doesn't give you the right to dump on _me_ when you get home!" Al countered high.

"I'm not the one all worried about keeping things perfectly tidy!" Ed made it about preferences.

"You're the one who'd contract some kind of disease if things stayed your way!" Al made it about fact.

"You're exaggerating!"

"I am not! Just _look_! You've made a mess in the kitchen, got dirt all over the living room, spilled on the rug, left a drink out on the bookshelf!" Al listed. "And you've only been home for two minutes!"

"So what do you want me to do? You want me to clean it up?" Ed opened the door for resolution, but with a piss-poor attitude stemming from a long, tiring day and a poor disposition for losing.

"No, _I'll_ clean it up! I've had enough of your cleaning from when you managed to take the mud from the floor and send it airborne onto every piece of furniture in the room!" Al closed the door, but with an equally piss-poor attitude stemming from a long, tiring day and a poor disposition for winning.

"Alright, fine!" Ed tore off his coat. The battle had ended.

"Just hang up your coat in the closet," Al asked.

"I will!" Ed snorted. He stomped off towards the bedroom, but stopped halfway down the hallway before turning and opening the storage closet door.

Al heard his brother close the storage closet door, then open the one with the cleaning things. For God's sake, didn't Ed even know where the clothes closet was?! Al yelled, "It's the one next to the bathroom!" He heard Ed open what had to be the never-used closet. Then he re-started the nuclear countdown. "I trust you're big enough not to need me to hang it up for you?"

There was silence. Then the sound of the closet door closing.

Ed walked back into the room. He was still holding his jacket.

"Wh—" Al stopped himself mid-speech. His brother's eyes were like smoldering fire, his face like a sinister, demon idol chiseled from hate-stone. This was not good.

"I just have one question," Ed said in a perfectly flat, calm voice. This was definitely not good.

"You know, since I'm an absolute slob who can't even clean the shit out from above his unwashed eyelids long enough to even get a glimpse of his biohazard of a cesspool surroundings..."

This was, most certainly, bad.

"So maybe I just didn't see them, but would you mind telling me..."

This was a parachute without a pull cord. Winter without firewood. Disease without medicine. Hands without thumbs. A car without brakes. Life without air. Chicken wings without hot sauce.

"...how am I supposed to hang my coat up..."

On a scale from good to bad, this was the needle being broken off and shoved directly up Al's asshole.

"...if there aren't any fucking _**hangers**_ in the fucking closet!!!"

Al was using all of the hangers to dry Ed's laundry out on the small porch...

"I- ... um..."

"So I suppose I'll just hold it all goddamn day and catch the Black Death from it!"

"Or wait..." Ed grinned evilly. "Maybe there _is _something I can use to hang my coat on after all..."

Al looked around the room, fearful. Was Ed going to put that filthy thing on the couch? Or the rug... Or—he wouldn't!—the kitchen table?!?!

No.

Al was too struck with worry to move fast enough. His brother jumped on him with a feral pounce, grabbing his arm. In an instant, bright blue light filled Al's vision.

And then his arm was a coat hanger.

-end "Misuse of Metallic Siblings"

Misuse of Alchemy 3 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series

Notes: So~~~~ That didn't suck completely or anything.... right? 'hate-stone'... totally made that shit up. I can't believe I used two early 90s cliches about beef in this. Also, is Ed boinking Fletcher? Or is he being boinked by Roy? Maybe it's both? Or maybe it's Havoc? And why am I channeling Bert and Ernie Sesame Street antics in this thing? Way too out of character towards the end. Oh well, I had fun writing it.

I can swear I remember seeing a scene where Al sits down on this little tiny stool, and it made me wonder how he doesn't break half of the furniture he uses. Or did I imagine that?

Feedback keeps me going. Help me by telling me what you liked, didn't like, anything. It really goes a long way to keeping me active.

MasamuneehsAThotmail


	4. 04 Misuse of Wrath

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy. Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or its characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Yaoi lemon, (Envy x Wrath), rape, Wrath is clearly underage, mention of guro. Old animeverse.

This one's for Ruby.

Misuse of Alchemy 4

Misuse of Wrath

Envy x Wrath

I take in a sharp, sudden breath and almost orgasm right there.

"Uhmf." I let out a little, sexy grunt, shifting my legs apart lazily. I reach down and stroke the mane of greasy, black hair covering most of his face. Part of me wants to grab hold of his hair, pull it up roughly, and then spit in his agonized face. But I don't. I just tell him, "Fuck you and that freak tongue of yours."

He's sucking my cock way too well for me to want to stop it for even a second.

I feel him start to try to say something, his throat constricting tighter in the front, squeezing down on the fat, pulsating staff of my dick. He's been at it for about, oh, the past half an hour or so. The kid's usually pretty quiet when it's just me and him, but after finishing our work today, the little twerp was only going to be doing one thing with that mouth of his.

So, I slap the new Wrath upside his head to let him know to not even think about it. He's not getting a word out until I'm done using him. That's what I do, I use him, his throat, his ass, the sockets of his ears if I'm really feeling rowdy. I have to lean back a little on the pile of rubble, all that's left of the ruined Ishbal settlement, and close my eyes against the hot, beating sun of the desert, because the sick little shit is doing that thing with his tongue again.

What thing? Well, I don't really know, because he can do just about anything he wants with that mouth, that tongue. It's wet and hot, but it's the fact that he can tighten or relax that body of his at will. At _my _will. He's got the blood of that dirty blond brat in him after all; the kid can use alchemy to turn that hungry, little, pink organ to go wherever he wants it to... when I have him put his mind to it.

And that's why for the past half hour I've been having him down on his knees–on that fucking shit's son's knee–and making him suck my dick with long, slow, full motions. I just need to take him by that black mop and get him down there; he knows how to do the rest. Now it's gotten to the point where I don't even need to slap him around beforehand.

I will miss breaking him down. The untrodden snow is the best to dig your heels into.

The thing is, I like slapping him around. I like to make him screw up his face in miserable pain and pathetic sadness. I like the whimpers he makes when I stick my cock in him, and I love the screams he makes when I cut him open, choke him to death, or just bash his head against a rock until his brains ooze out. It's made all the better by knowing that each time I use his body to serve me needs, it takes the life force of dozens of piss-ant humans.

That hot, wet tongue of his is now starting to curl its way all the way down the rock hard shaft of my sex. It feels like a hot, wet snake is gripping me and thrashing, helplessly thrashing. I take my right hand into his hair and curl it into a fist.

"Yeah, you fucking whore alchemist, suck it!"

Wrath responds real well to any kind of verbal encouragement, and he begins to close his throat around me even tighter, sucking hard now while he begins to break the dull, slow pace from before. It feels like he's trying to break off my dick with just his throat. You can't see much of the kid's face while he's chowing down on me; not with all his hair, but I know his eyes are shut in concentration. He wants to please me. It's a two way street. He pleases me, I don't trod on his face and kill him for fun. The way I drive, I take up both lanes.

The little fuck feels so good around my cock, and it's just too good to not give in to.

"Oh fuck, you and that goddamn tongue. I'm going to feed you soon, you hungry little shit. Come on, _suck_!"

I fuck his tiny little throat without any regard for his body. If he was human, I'd have choked him to death by now, but the kid hangs in there. His little head is a blur as I pump him up and down again and again, slamming him down onto me. I feel a hot heat rising up inside of me, and the little shit's tongue completely squirming and wriggling all around my throbbing sex as the twerp tries uselessly to get air.

My body jolts forward in a violent fit, and then another, and I can feel the hot, thick essence coming out from deep inside of me. It adds a thicker, stickier wetness to the inside of the little cocksucker's mouth, and I know that his tongue, completely twisted and wrapping half the way down my thick length, is covered with the blood crimson color of the Stone and all the shitty, meaningless souls that went into making it.

Like the bodies of the dead women and children lying motionless in the settlement's ruined center, the only thing they're good for is getting me off.

Wrath breathes in deeply through his nose, and I idly realize I'm still holding him by the back of his head, crushing the kid down onto my already softening dick. I let him go, recoiling backwards, gagging. I admire the small marks I've made on his pale skin. My cock falls out of his mouth and onto my stomach with a wet 'splat'.

Coughing, Wrath struggles to his feet. I can't see his face because of that hair of his. But I don't need to see. His hands are balled into fists and his body shows all the signs of shaking from not letting me see the pain and discomfort. Little guy doesn't know whether he should be scared that he likes it or angry that he had to go through it. And frankly, I don't give a shit.

He doesn't say anything or cry or any shit like that. He knows I'll beat the living crap out of him if he does. I materialize myself some shorts to cover up. I let out a deep, half satisfied sigh and look slowly around the empty landscape of dunes, burned huts, and disfigured bodies. There are only a few vultures eating the still warm flesh, and it reminds me that it's going to be some time before Lust makes it here...

Wrath is still standing there, with his hair covering his face and his little hands curled up into fists and trying not to cry because I'll spend the next few hours beating his face and raping his little ass if he does...

But it's going to be a few more hours before Lust gets here, and there's no point in making it worse than it needs to be. So I slide off of the rubble and bend down, brushing Wrath's hair out of the way.

I'm probably going to rape him more anyway... to be honest.

I look him in the eyes, and he looks back at me—the would-be tears quivering in the corners of those big, gray orbs. His jaw is clenched and I can tell he hasn't swallowed me down yet. Kid still has issues when it comes to feeding time... He's got a dribble of light red from the Stone under his mouth, and I resist the urge to lick it off of him by telling him to do it instead.

He looks at me with a look that leaves no doubt that if he could kill me, he would. But then there's the sudden flash of his tongue, real small and skinny this time, darting out of his mouth and lapping up the red smudge from his lips, and I feel myself starting to get hard again.

"Swallow the rest that's in your mouth," I tell him.

He does, reluctantly taking the souls down into him.

"Good boy," I say.

A few minutes pass. A light breeze from the southwest carries a bit of the salt from the faraway sea on it, and it makes flecks of sand dance in a tiny whirlwind around the ruined well. Soon it'll carry on and bring the smell of the dead out across the entire southern wastes. And the vultures will come to feast.

"When is Lust coming?" Wrath asks. It's a fucking annoying question, even if I'm wondering it too.

"When you stop fucking talking," I answer.

Wrath opens his mouth to say something, but quickly thinks better of it and doesn't. Instead he takes a deep breath and makes a pouting face, even as he's glaring at me. Then he scrunches up his nose and sticks his tongue a good three feet out at me.

I hope Lust doesn't come for awhile...

-end Misuse of Wrath

Misuse of Alchemy 4

Wrath has way too many traits that scream "Write me in a lemon". And I just can't picture him with anyone except for Envy. I feel bad, because he is just a kid, no matter how you look at it... But, where am I going to find another subject for these stories who can do the stuff he can?

I figured Envy would 'cum' Philosopher's Stone. Right? Also, I remember the scene in the first anime where Envy is feeding Wrath the stone, and that served as a real inspiration for this one.

Next time is going to be something a little more consensual.


	5. 05 Misuse of Botanical Alchemy

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Men getting it on with men. Lots of it, and in kinky style too. Oh, this one has a tentacle monster in it, and Fletcher (grown up though). Yeah, the dude really loves his vegetables. If this grosses you out, don't read it. There will be other stories, and I can guarantee they won't all involve tentacles. In fact, this is probably the only one that will, because it was hella hard to write.

As always, a big thanks to my awesome betareader, ZaKai!

Misuse of Alchemy 5

Misuse of Botanical Alchemy

Tentacles x Fletcher

Fletcher stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door with all his might. The young blond cringed as the clamor rang in his ears, but a moment later he was even angrier than before, this time with himself. Fletcher was just thankful that his brother wasn't home; he'd surely have came and checked on his younger brother after hearing the door slam. But Fletcher almost didn't want to see his brother right now. He certainly didn't want to answer questions about why he was in such a foul mood and home so early on a Friday night...

"_Well, I was down at The Flamingo, that seedy, hole in the wall bar on N Street that's actually an underground meeting spot for gay guys. Like always, it was full of old, creepy guys practically begging to suck me off. A few of them were really drunk and asking me if I wasn't too young to be there—even though they kept pawing at me—the creeps... and even the one I let buy me a drink kept grabbing my ass and trying to get me to go back to the sex rooms with him. And when he asked if I would call him 'daddy', I decided I'd had enough of the sicko, threw the drink in his face, and left."_

Fletcher imagined himself saying these things to his brother, but it didn't make him feel any better. His tiny fantasy helped dilute the anger, but the sadness at knowing he could never bring himself to tell Russell about such things left the younger Tlingham brother feeling only slightly shittier than he'd felt before. Russell was probably out on a date with another one of his dumb, floozy girlfriends...

Fletcher tried not to think about his brother.

Instead, his thoughts strayed back to the men at the bar. He'd been there before, and even recognized a few of the men from the handful of places people like that tended to frequent. It was always the same. They were there for only one thing; and Fletcher, although he'd occasionally let go and indulge in the burning, secret desires of the flesh—which had led him to such scenes in the first place—really wanted something more. Even when he did let himself get drunk enough to go back to one of the rooms, he always regretted it afterwards, always felt dirty, used, and empty. It didn't help that the men were almost twice his age, and Fletcher still looked like a minor, despite having been an adult for almost two whole years now.

A familiar frustration swept over Fletcher's taut, limber frame. He bit his lip and thought more about all of it. He was gay, he'd come to accept that a long time ago. Women didn't do anything for him. Homosexuality, however, although not openly illegal, was frowned on by the state. People 'like that' often had a hard time finding or keeping jobs with decent pay. The military _was_ Amestris, and to have a military, you needed an always fresh supply of cannon-fodder being born each and every year. Amestris, like any power built on exploiting its people, kept the appearance of being 'focused on the family'.

The few gay bars and meeting places offered little outside of purely sexual encounters. Older men, most of whom had long ago accepted an existence of menial labor or unemployment for being publicly labeled as 'Queers', were really not his type. Fletcher's body had... needs... but... He couldn't risk his brother getting fired, or worse, all because he wanted to get fucked by—

There was a soft rustling noise and Fletcher was suddenly broken from his thoughts by the cool touch of something reaching out to him from the darkness of his bedroom. Fletcher jumped a little, and a quick rustle of leaves signaled that Malboro, his pet plant, was wrapping his long vines around his trunk in a way that Fletcher had decided was something like a child's guilty pout.

Fletcher chastised himself silently as he walked towards the massive pot by his bed. He sat down with a sigh and, reaching out, slowly petted Malboro's shaking, sulking ferns. After just a few tender pats, the plant recognized the nature of its master's touch and peeled back the thick coat of leaves and ferns to expose its trunk. Fletcher rubbed the trunk, solid and slightly waxy to the touch, almost absentmindedly wishing that he could find a man half as sensitive as his pet Chlorobionta.

Almost seven years had passed since Fletcher had created Malboro, using a bunch of his favorite plants from their old house out in Xenotime and the most complicated series of arrays a young, genius alchemist could manage. They'd been about to move to Central, and Russell had explained that they couldn't bring all of the trees, bushes and flowers that his younger brother had dutifully raised. So Fletcher, like any child hoping to take all his favorite toys on an impossibly long trip, had had the brilliant idea of wrapping all his favorite plants into one, easily portable package. The transmutation had worked, but almost at the cost of Fletcher's life.

When he'd come to in a hospital in Central, after almost two months in a coma, Fletcher had been delighted to see a small sapling in a slim pot, swaying in the windless room, almost as if it were waving to him. Confined to a bed and wheelchair for months more, Fletcher had been truly grateful for his new pet and friend. And the little plant seemed to thrive off of his care and affection, growing taller and more sentient with the passage of time.

But now, years later, barely a fraction into what Fletcher guessed might be its life-cycle, Malboro was still growing. He took up almost a third of Fletcher's room now, and his top stalks scraped against the ceiling. Fletcher had always done his best to care for his pet, but now Malboro's main branches were almost as big as the young man's arms, and the long vines drooped out over the custom-made pot and into heaps on the floor. The tendrils were long, waxy, and so full of vigor that they almost resembled–

Fletcher stopped his thoughts and his petting as he realized he was getting a hard-on thinking about a member of another species. _Another kingdom..._ He _did _have a thing for well-endowed men, but... Fletcher flushed in embarrassed at the images his mind had just called up, not for the first time...

But the images, and the frustration from his misadventures at the bar, had done their work.

With a heavy sigh, Fletcher lay down on his bed and hastily unzipped his pants, wriggling them down past his slight hips. He was hard and hot. He had fully intended to relieve himself of this problem at the seedy bar, but then those men had– Fletcher pushed the memory out of his mind as he reached down and began stroking himself. He shut his eyes and imagined a tall figure holding him fast in strong arms, playing with his body and–

Fletcher heard a nearby rustle, and barely had time to open his eyes before he felt something else gripping his long, exposed sex. Fletcher's other hand moved to swat Malboro away, but before it could, a wave of pleasure crashed over his body, making him shiver and moan. Unlike his hand, this touch was cool and rough. It felt different, and very, very, good....

Fletcher let out a soft grunt that ended in a long, low moan as the touch on his sex pushed him closer to the release he desperately sought. The caresses were becoming longer, the pressure wrapped around his aching need slightly more. It was as if his pet were gaining confidence as it watched his reaction.

Even though it was dark, Fletcher had his eyes shut, half caught between trying to block out the unbelievable event taking place and trying to lose himself in it with images from his fantasies. He heard the rustle of leaves and the slight creak of the pot, and almost burst out into laughter as yet another, softer, almost tickling touch began on the very head of his cock. But, there came another rustle and a suddenly almost too-tight pinching as Malboro grasped his sex completely with the thickest part of a tendril. Fletcher's eyes flew open and his body spasmed, brushing the most sensitive part of him against the teasing ferns. Malboro jacked him off like a huge, heavy, gloved hand.

Fletcher gave a strangled cry, suppressing it as he fully forgot that he was home alone. His hips bucked up into the air, and he came with a furious, stifled orgasm. He humped the curled tentacle with reckless lust, forcing the feeler to milk him for all he was worth. Fletcher swallowed what would have been a loud cry and shivered violently

He collapsed back down onto the bed, mind lost in the haze of the aftermath.

But Malboro did not know to stop, and suddenly the continued assault on his already spent, overly sensitive sex registered in Fletcher's brain as a sharp pain. He sat upright in the bed with a cry and—suddenly very aware of what he was allowing to happen to him, and with what—struck the tentacle that had just brought him to bliss.

Malboro let go instantly, tendrils and ferns whipping away from the attack with such a fierce, scared reaction that the base of his massive pot rocked on the wooden floor from the backlash. Leaves rustled nervously, confusedly trying to protect their vital branches and vines.

Fletcher felt awful and, in a flash, realized that, if anyone here deserved to be slapped, it was him. Malboro was not like the creeps at the bars. It actually cared about him, probably truly loved him. It didn't care about his sexuality, his boyish looks, and it would never judge him for his perverse desires the way that even his own brother probably would.

"Hey, Malb'... Hey," Fletcher called out pleadingly, scooting over on the bed and reaching out to where he could hear the poor soul quivering in hurt rejection. "Hey, I'm sorry. I– Really... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just..." He stopped as the furious rustling ceased for a moment and his hand came in contact with the wall of ferns Malboro was hiding behind. He stroked the soft leaves for a minute before finally saying, "I'm just really confused and fucked up..."

He had the sexual desire for men, but Fletcher was still developing emotionally. He didn't know how to reconcile his urge to be touched, his urges to be sucked and fucked, with his fear of being used like some cheap whore, of being mentally harmed by the manipulative men that lusted after him. He wanted to do all kinds of things, things that would probably make even those men in the Flamingo blush to hear said out loud, but he was scared to trust anyone like that, wouldn't allow himself to do those things with just anyone...

Feeling more than slightly embarrassed, Fletcher rubbed gently at the main trunk and said, "I... um, I actually really liked that..." He shook his head, but a playful swat of a thin vine against his bare thigh let him know that he wasn't totally crazy to be talking to a plant. "Geez, you're lively tonight!" A fern tickled the back of his hand, and Malboro's thickest free vine thumped softly on the floor like a dog's tail.

Fletcher swallowed hard and, after a minute of silent consideration, reached a decision. Opening his eyes, he could only make out the outline of his plant's tangled form, but noticed it freeze under his gaze, as if it were looking straight back into his eyes.

"We're going to try this just once, okay?" Fletcher said, trying to rationalize it all to himself, and to make sure his pet didn't try to make a habit out of this... Malboro's top ferns swayed forward slightly, then back, nodding sincerely. Fletcher scooted forward until his toes were almost touching the base of the pot, suddenly very aware of the refreshing, natural smell of the horny little tentacle monster.

"Don't tell Russell, okay?"

Fletcher pressed his forehead against the thick, hard trunk, shutting his eyes and focusing on his thoughts. Unbidden, images from his fantasies came to his mind, swirling vividly. He was starting to grow hard again.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud rustling all around him. Fletcher looked up in fear, but before he could react, his arms were locked soundly to his side as all of Malboro's long tendrils wrapped themselves full around his body. He panicked as he was suddenly hoisted backwards onto the bed, landing with a soft thud on his blankets. His legs flailed wildly, his upper body trapped, and Fletcher was about to yell out a stern command when he suddenly felt a soft and cool touch on his face.

Malboro was stroking his cheek gently, almost reassuringly. As quickly as his panic had risen, Fletcher felt it wash away, replaced by a flaring hot arousal at being restrained and at the mercy of someone he knew he could actually trust. Malboro uncoiled from around his body, several dark tentacles flashing dully in the almost complete darkness. They were soon wrapped around Russell's arms, drawing them up over his head, and down at his feet, spreading his legs apart. Then came that frighteningly cold, exquisitely textured touch on his sex again.

Fletcher groaned and arched his back up into it. His feet and hands bound, the young blond felt helpless, but surprisingly safe. There was a rustle as Malboro reached out with his ferns and brushed them playfully against the muscled backside, sliding a waxy tendril up into Fletcher's crack. The cool sensation made him groan and turn his head into the pillow, mind suddenly searching for thoughts that would not bring him to climax too soon.

Malboro pulled Fletcher's pants farther down, continuing to play with both his cock and, now, at the tight entrance of Fletcher's ass. A thin tendril was able to slide less than half an inch inside before hitting fiery resistance, even as Fletcher let out a grunt, and then a demanding, "More." Malboro obliged with a brandishing of one of his bigger tentacles, as thick as Fletcher's wrist and infinitely long. Fletcher was suddenly very glad that he'd spent all that money on the sizeable sex toy he sometimes used. The men at the Flamingo would have fainted if they'd seen the thing that was about to go inside of him.

The pressure of the tentacles wrapped around his wrists, ankles and cock all increased for a moment, and Fletcher wondered if something was wrong. Malboro's leaves shook in tight tension and, then, a thick, sticky liquid made contact with the tight ring of muscle around the squirming, smaller tendril inside of him. It was cool to the touch and gave him goosebumps, but not unpleasant. Malboro was forcing his sap out, using his other small tendrils to spread it around as much of Fletcher's insides as possible, and...

The thickest and longest of Malboro's tentacles loomed up above him, dripping sap onto his chest and allowing its master one last chance to decide if this was really what he wanted.

"Yes. Please," Fletcher pleaded, voice heavy with want.

There was a rustle, a piercing pressure, and then a flash of fiery pain that made Fletcher bite his lip between short, ragged breaths. Without the gooey sap to ease the penetration, Fletcher didn't think it would have been possible. He was being torn apart, and it made him rock hard. His pet gave one final push, and Fletcher trembled at the feeling of the cool, thick girth filling him. The pressure of the invader possessing his insides was sweet abandon, a mix of twisted pleasure and arousing pain. A tendril ghosted along his ribs, making him shiver. The tentacle wrapped firmly around his sex began to flex and coil around his sensitive crown. The one inside reached like no human touch could, flexibly adjusting to his tight walls, always attacking his sweet spot with a gyrating pulse. The grating against that magic spot inside of him, at the commanding power keeping him in place, and the still somewhat soft and caring feelings that went beyond normal bonds pushed Fletcher over the edge.

Fletcher arched his back, tried futilely to push himself down further on more of the tentacle, bucked his hips up into the air, saw stars, and called out his brother's name.

Malboro uncoiled from around him, slightly bruised tentacle slithering out from inside of Fletcher's taut butt and shaking itself off. The vines holding his wrists released him, and Fletcher's hands fell, raised only slightly up over his heavily breathing chest.

Fletcher looked up at the darkness of his ceiling and tried to make sense of what he'd just done and his insane desire to do it again as soon as possible. He trembled and flexed his muscles, the sap and his own sweat and release all mixing together in a mess on his body.

Fletcher had never felt so completely drained and fulfilled in his life.

Malboro threw him a towel.

-end Misuse of Botanical Alchemy

Misuse of Alchemy 5 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series

Note – Yeah, couldn't resist adding some incest tension in there. Sorry if that's not your thing. Then again, if you just read through a Tentacles x Fletcher yaoi fanfic and have issues with off-hand mentions of incestual desires, I think you've got issues. Yeah, _I _think _you_'ve got issues. Oh, and the cute little tentacle monster's name comes from the Final Fantasy series. Basically I imagine it to be like a botanical chimera, except, well, really very sweet and good-natured...

I have never tried something like this before, so please tell me what you thought. It was really difficult for me to do a scene with something that isn't human.


	6. 06 You Ain't No Automail Mechanic: MoAT2

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of oneshots involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of the characters in it. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Men getting it on with men. Lots of it, and in kinky style too. This one's also Roy x Ed, BDSM, then comedy, cursing.

For ZaKai, Masa?

No. For me!

Misuse of Alchemy 6

Misuse of Automail Transmutation 2: You Ain't no Automail Mechanic

The sound of a metallic creak caught Ed's ears.

It came amidst the din of heavy, wet slapping noises of sweat slick flesh on sweat slick flesh; the flighty whistle of the whip before it landed on his back; the raspy breaths that heated the nip of his earlobe; and the still not faded sound of his last, loud, pleasured cry.

Still, somehow, the noise was audible.

_Creak_.

It came again, and this time—despite the sharp, searing pain of the whip raining down on his exposed skin; the suffocatingly taut collar fastened around his neck; the coiled, burning tension of his flesh arm tied behind him; and the white hot, piercing heat of Roy Mustang's long, thick cock spearing his insides—Ed focused on the noise.

_Creak._

It came from above him.

"Um– Ah!" A not so gentle bite on the back of his neck and an even more savage than usual thrust from his superior officer cut Ed's words off. "C–Colonel, um... YEAGH!" The whip landed heavily across his already abused flesh in a way that was usually reserved for 'punishment', and not just the casual, kinky sex. Ed wasn't to speak unless ordered to.

_Creak_.

"S-seriously! Colonel! GAH!!!"

A strangled cry, a deep thrust from below, and the whip—this time with a furious blow that drew blood—told Ed that Mustang was quickly getting angry with him breaking the 'No Speaking' rule. This time, the man's hand even left Ed's impossibly stiff cock long enough to pull on the chained collar attached to his neck.

_Creak! _The protest was louder and more desperate this time.

"R—really! I–" An even harder tug of the chain choked Ed's words in his throat. The whip rained down with a fury, and the thrusts piston pumped up into his most sensitive depths with violent force. Ed felt lightheaded; close to the point of climax. Mustang gave another sharp jerk on the collar's chain, and Ed almost came right then.

_CREAK!_

He felt his body lurch, not from the colonel's stabbing thrusts up into him, and not from the collar yanking him toward the ground, but— _Creak._ Ed felt his body jerk as something above him—in the automail arm that he was suspended from the ceiling by—gave way slightly, causing him to drop a little bit further down towards the floor, further down onto Mustang's considerable erection.

Ed heard the raven-haired colonel hiss in surprised pleasure.

_Creak!_

His body sagged a little lower, and it was all he could do to keep himself from cumming as gravity drove him deeper onto his lover's flesh.

_CREAK!_

This time Ed's body lurched toward the ground in a way that brought no such pleasure. He was almost positively speared on Roy's cock—which in itself was far from a problem—but at an angle that drove the hard flesh into him in a very uncomfortable way. The shock of pain was enough to clear his head, and the further sound of the creaking from his automail limb gave Ed the panic sufficient to suddenly shout out in a loud voice.

"NOBELIUM!"[1]

There was a cry of frustrated disbelief, a final tug on the collar, and the gasp-inducing sensation of the man quickly and roughly pulling out of him. Ed heard Mustang howl, "Oh, come on! What the hell?!"

_**CREAKKK--!!!**_

Before Ed could explain why he'd felt the need to use his 'stop word', the loud noise of failing metal rang out one final time, this time a long, sustained tearing. Ed cursed and fell. It was a good couple feet from where he hung to the floor, and with no arm free to brace himself, his head connected on the wood with an almost comedic bang.

There was a surprised breath from the colonel, several pained curses from Ed, and then a light, almost melodic clatter. _Tink! Tink! Tink! _A metal bolt bounced on the floor three times before rolling onto its side and stopping.

"THAT!" Ed yelled in angered explanation, his face red. He tried to stand, forgetting that Roy had purposefully removed his leg before they'd started. Growling, Ed squirmed and balanced on the one knee left to him, glaring up at the ceiling. His eyes did what his bound flesh hand could not, pointing up at the ceiling beams of the colonel's lounge, where half of his automail arm hung from the high grade metal fastenings the man had secured there.

"I see..." the colonel allowed softly. Was that amusement in his voice? Ed seethed quietly.

"Well don't just stand there, you dirty, old pervert! Fuckin' get it down!"

His own ragged, angry breaths were the only noise in the room before the collected, reproachful voice of Ed's superior asked, "What did you just say?"

"I said, 'stop standing there being fucking useless and—' " Still in a rush of anger, Ed's words came from his mouth before thoughts could form in his muddled mind. "Ah!"

Mustang was suddenly hauling him up into the air by the chain attached to his collar. Fear dissipated the mental fog, and Ed was quickly aware of his words, and several of the other ones that might have served him better. But now the inability to get breath silenced him.

"You will not address me with that kind of insolence," the colonel commanded. "Understand?" Ed let out a strangled gurgle, accompanied by a slight nod of his head. The blond coughed and spat upon being thrown down onto the floor.

"Wait there," came the stern command, then the padding of bare feet on wood, the clicking of locks being undone, and the creak of the lounge door being opened.

Ed, his automail leg somewhere in the next room, really had no other options. He rolled onto his back, wincing at the contact of his open wounds on the cold wood, and stared up at the ceiling forlornly. Half of his arm swung back and forth, waving down at him.

"Winry is going to kill me..." Ed muttered to himself.

He didn't have too much time to dwell on just how he'd be murdered by his long time friend and mechanic, as the sound of the lounge door being opened wide soon met his ears. Ed rolled onto his side again to see the colonel returning with a tall ladder and...

"Are you going to try to fix it yourself?" The raven-haired man stopped, and Ed's eyes moved from the wrench in the man's hand to his face, making him hastily add, "Colonel, sir?" Mustang insisted he be addressed by his rank whenever the two were being 'intimate'.

The man continued to carry the ladder into the room, only answering after placing it in the center and opening its legs. "You'll get in trouble with your mechanic if she finds out, won't you?" His voice was still cold and resolute, but Ed's well trained ears could catch the concern in the man's words.

Winry was a small girl, but she was a scary freak of a bitch when it came to Ed's automail maintenance. Even the Flame Alchemist couldn't stand toe to toe with an angry Winry Rockbell. Mustang let out a sigh that was half anticipated frustration, half "my balls are unbelievably blue right now".

Ed thought about how best to phrase his next words. Was this just a break in their 'intimate time'? Or had it prematurely come to an end? Ed couldn't remember it ever having ended before his 'master' had had at least one orgasm...

"Can you fix it, Colonel?" he decided to play it safe.

There was the sound of metal being tinkered with above, and then the dark-haired man asking, "Who says _I'm_ going to fix it?"

Ed knit his brow in confusion. "Then... um..."

"You change your automail arm into different shapes all the time, don't you?" The question came with the sound of jangling as Mustang freed his arm from the restraints. "If we get all the pieces together and make it so you can form a circle with your hands, can't you just fix it yourself?"[2]

Ed stopped to consider this. In theory, maybe... He heard the colonel descending the ladder.

"But I only use alchemy when I'm forming a weapon," Ed said. "When I send it back to normal, it's more like I'm just reversing that; I'm not really turning it into anything new..." Automail was something very complex, and the thought of trying to transmute his limb to anything besides the simple blade he wielded in battle was...

The man was at his side now, dropping the recovered piece of ruined automail next to him with a clamor. "Try."

"I... I'll need to have it reattached... Colonel..." Ed stammered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. If he somehow screwed up the automail even more, he'd have to deal with Winry... But if Mustang, under these circumstances, was ordering him...

Ed's discomfort turned into fear as Roy brandished the wrench in one hand, and the bolt that had popped out in his other. "Let me worry about that, Fullmetal. You should just worry about recalling as much about your automail arm as you can... and about deciding what punishment you deserve for speaking without being ordered to."

Fear became panic. "But– I..." Ed grasped at words. The colonel despised begging, but... Having Ed pick a punishment meant that the man was not going to be kind to him at all after this technical difficulty was resolved... It was another of his 'games' that could get downright ugly... "I..."

"Sit up, Fullmetal." Mustang watched the teen struggle to—one leg, one stub, a muscled torso and a bound arm—sit up into place. When Ed was in position, Mustang gave a wan smile, waving the wrench as he bent down. "I'll handle this."

Nearly two hours later, Roy stood up, stretching and letting out a curse under his breath. It had been a very cold, rainy autumn, and Roy found the hours hunched over his office desk more and more taxing on his lower back. But it wasn't old age! Oh no! He'd be thirty-two soon, and while he did have soreness and things that he didn't have ten years ago, he was still in fantastic working order. He tilted to his side and gave a grimace of relief. Regardless of Roy's indomitable spirit, the nightly, bone rattling sex with his younger subordinate sure didn't seem to be helping things...

He shook his head and let out a sigh. The idea of doing his lover from below while the young blond was suspended from his lounge ceiling had been a scenario he'd been planning out for the past two weeks. The industrial strength bolts and fastenings that Falman had 'lost' into his hands had proved better than Roy had expected. Surprisingly, it was the Rockbell automail that had given way...

Well, Ed had informed him, Winry had once said something about shifting towards a lighter, less durable composition for his arm... And, when Roy thought about it, the things he had Ed do with that automail arm were downright ridiculous sometimes...

"Umm... maybe we should just..." Roy had suspended -The Rules- after the first half hour of fiddling with the automail. "I mean, you can't even fix eggs, let alone auto–" Ed was making him seriously regret that.

"No," Roy cut Ed off quickly. He was tired, annoyed, and sexually frustrated, but he'd be damned if he stopped now.

"Sometimes you're almost as stubborn as me." Ed shook his head.

"I'll remember you said that when I'm not so dog tired and pissed off," Mustang threatened, but he'd grown weary over the last hour and a half, and this strain was reflected in his tone.

As if sensing the weakness, Ed got crass, "Oh? You sure it won't slip your mind? You know, I read that as you get older one of the first things to go is your memory."

Roy let out a deep breath. "I won't. And with as much as you've been mouthing off tonight, the only reason I'm not punishing you right now is because I'm afraid if I did I might actually hurt you. I'm going to need to be well-rested and level-headed to not _seriously_ injure you with what I have in mind."

Although spoken with a tired tone, these words seemed to have the desired effect. Sloppiness, mental or physical, was fuel for trouble in a sex life like theirs. They both knew this too well. Roy watched Ed swallow his next words before the first could leave his mouth.

He looked down at the half of Ed's automail arm lying on the ground and the bolt that refused to cooperate with him, still stuck in the mouth of the wrench and—

Roy bent down and picked up the automail limb. He set it down on the floor again, fingers wrapping around the handle of the wrench. Roy grasped the wrench in his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers while he looked at the wrench and Ed's damaged arm for a long moment. He took hold of the metal tool with both hands.

With a stern voice, he said to Ed, "Don't move."

"What are you— AGH!"

The shrill cry of pain would have made most men jump, or at least twitch enough to counteract the task Roy was now laboriously focused on, working the wrench up into a gap in the half of the automail still connected to Ed's flesh. Roy had heard many such cries from Ed before.

Finally, with one last savage jerk of his arm, Roy let the wrench go. Ed squinted his eyes open, looking down to where the wrench was now dangling from his arm. Roy knew that the young alchemist was probably still seeing stars from the pain of the damaged nerve receptors.

"FUCK! That _hurt_!" Ed cursed. "Fucking goddamn sadist..."

Roy paid these words no mind, knowing them to be largely true. Instead, he picked up the broken half of Ed's automail arm and, eyeing a loop of loose metal where the damage was the worst, draped it unceremoniously over the handle of the wrench. Ed's shoulder sagged a little from the added weight, but the arm stayed hanging from the metal tool.

Ed, stubbornly blinking away the shock of pain, looked at the mess that was his left arm and spoke, "You're gonna leave the wrench in there?" His fiery bronze eyes cast doubt and a steady rasp of anger as they met Roy's.

"All the pieces are there, right?" Roy asked academically. "You should be able to transmute it back into one solid piece for now."

Ed seemed to consider this for a moment, but looking down at his arm, shook his head and said, "But the wrench..."

"Your automail is steel, correct?" Roy asked.

"Yeah, but—"

"The wrench is military grade solid steel," Roy informed him. Honestly, did Ed think he was that stupid? "Just make your arm into one piece for now and we'll get a mechanic in Central to look at it later."

Ed looked up at the man for a moment. "Winry's going to kill me..." Ed mumbled, but offered no further protest. Instead he closed his eyes and concentrated on the traits of steel and his automail arm's form. He touched his flesh hand to the automail one dangling weakly at his side.

There was blue light.

"Fuck! Shit! This is bad! She's going to kill us!"

"_Us?_ Now, don't—"

The voices floated into Winry Rockbell's ears as if muffled by rumbling walls and train whistles. There was a strange murmur of colliding voices and clattering feet all around her. One of the voices sounded like...

"Oh fuck you, Roy! You _know_ this is your fault too!"

Ed?

Winry blinked; surprised to be lying on her back and staring up at a wood ceiling that was completely unlike the lighter ash in her home in Rizembool. She turned her head and saw a bench and two suitcases. Her suitcases. She frowned, trying to remember. The commotion outside—

That _was_ a train whistle.

"Now now, remember what we agreed to, Ed," a heavier, somewhat coolly detached voice came. This voice was familiar to, but... "I'll pay for the maintenance, but you—"

Maintenance. Something in Winry's brain clicked, and the memory began to come back to her. That's right, she'd been on her way to Central to do some maintenance on Ed's automail. It had been very strange, the tone in her childhood friend's voice when he'd called her—he rarely called her, that had been strange in and of itself—and she had been worried he'd gotten into another fight with one of those monsters who wore black... But she was always glad to have the chance to visit him... to feel like Ed...

"But I just take all the blame?!" That _was _Ed's voice. "Hell no! I'm—"

"Look. She's coming around," Roy Mustang said.

Mustang.

Winry sat up suddenly, eyes darting around the small, brightly lit room; all benches and ashtrays. Through the glazed windows, she caught silhouettes flickering to and fro as they bustled about Central City Station. The train station. She remembered. She'd fallen asleep on the train, and the conductor had woken her at the station. He'd even helped her with her heavy equipment bags, and when she'd gotten onto the platform—

Movement to her left broke her from the recollection. A handsome, dark haired man was leaning down next to her. He had a soft smile on his face, but there was something about the man that unsettled Winry, that always unsettled Winry. It wasn't just the uniform and the painful memories the sight of it invoked. "Are you alright, Ms. Rockbell?" Roy Mustang asked in that snake smooth voice of his. It was the man's cleverly guarded insincerity.

"I'm fine," Winry replied stonily. Her head hurt a little bit, but... "I thought Ed was..."

She narrowed her eyes at the officer when the man flinched, then forced his smile back on with a tic of effort. Her suspicion grew. Mustang had been at the platform to meet her, not Al. That had struck her as incredibly odd. She wasn't exactly on good terms with him, and even though Ed had been there with Mustang, Winry...

"Where's Ed?" Winry asked peevishly. There was something that she knew she was forgetting. And it was making her angry.

"He's—"

"I'm right here!" Ed popped out from Roy's side, waving at her and sporting a grin that was far too wide to be an indication of anything but trouble. "Hehe," Ed chuckled hollowly. "Good to see you're okay, Winry. You gave us quite a scare, you know. Hehe." He patted the back of his head nervously with his hand; his left hand, his non-automail hand.

Winry stood, slightly unsteadily. Mustang stood too, offering her a supporting hand that she did not take. She looked at the two of them, trying to recall what had happened. She'd passed out. That much was obvious. But what had caused her to?

"What happened to me?" Winry asked, somehow not trusting either of the two men in front of her to answer honestly. She was beginning to feel a little embarrassed, and that didn't mix well with her confusion and frustration at not being able to remember.

Mustang and Ed exchanged a glance, then both started at once.

"Well, I dunno, you—"

"It seemed like you w—"

They stopped mid-sentence, looking at each other nervously, Mustang behind and down, Ed up and to his right.

"Why are you standing so close together like that?" Winry asked. The man was standing in front of Ed, and Ed was almost leaning in towards his side.

"Huh?" Ed asked dumbly, a panicked look ruining his attempt at cluelessness.

"N–no reason!" Mustang managed little better.

Winry took a step forward. The two took a step back in tandem. It was almost as if Mustang was shielding Ed, but only on his right side. Winry frowned, demanded with an icy glower, "Ed, show me your arms."

Ed blubbered something, and Roy watched the two of them with a tense, walking on needles look. It was a sight Winry had seen not long ago. She just couldn't— But then she did. Remembrance flashed through Winry's mind, and the confusion boiled and evaporated in a bed of hot, liquid anger. She glared at Ed fit to choke a bullfrog and roughly pushed Mustang aside. There was a horrified look on Ed's face as she reached out and grabbed the mangled mishmash of metal that was awkwardly jutting out under his red coat.

Winry tore the coat away.

In the far suburbs of West City, a young housewife was talking on the phone when she suddenly let out a startled cry, stepping back and crushing the tail of her surly calico cat, who had been napping nearby. The cat mewled madly, scampering away blindly and cowering under a couch. It hissed and licked its wounds, its poor tail tingling as though it had been stung by a scorpion. The cat was brooding thickly when her owner coaxed her out with a piece of fresh fish and informed her that there had been some kind of commotion at the Central City train station, some small explosion or something of the sort that had caused her husband—away on business for the week—to cry out in confusion. It had startled her, and she quietly pleaded with her precious kitten-mitten-baby-boop to not be angry with her.

The cat snapped up a jaw full of fish. Oh, no, she wouldn't be angry with her.

She'd just claw the mustache off of her ass of a husband when the fool returned.

Back in a louder than usual Central City Station, a slightly overweight but amiable and kind young man felt a shiver run down his spine as he exited the phone booth he'd been using. He hated to be away from home, to be so far away from his wife. But these new mechanical house cleaning devices didn't sell themselves. The man sighed, shaking off the feeling of apprehension, and picked up his heavy suitcase and the machine he used for live demonstrations, the 'Vacuum'.

There were a few people gathered near one of the smoking areas, and a considerable ruckus was being raised. Deciding it must have been the source of the awful, blood curdling scream that had caused him to frighten his wife so badly, the man felt obliged to take a peak. He made his way through the crowd, apologizing whenever he passed to close to someone or took a step that would conflict with their intended path. Finally, he got to the front.

Several police officers were trying to calm down a wild-eyed, blonde girl. A tall military officer with black hair and a wicked gash on the side of his face seemed to also be trying to restore order. The girl was furiously screaming at the man, something about 'automail' and 'can't just mess with it if you don't know what you're doing, you shit for brains'. She was waving a wrench menacingly, doing a strange, almost theatrical dance with the shuffling security guards, the evading officer, and herself; desperately trying to get at the black-haired man but avoid letting the guards grab her, lunging forward every so often, screaming obscenities and threats more often.

Behind all of this, a medic was leaning over something near one of the smoking area entrances, a guard trying to shoo people away. There was something sticking halfway out the smoking area door, a yellow thing that almost looked like a head stuck out from a heap, something silver and a blanket or coat of crimson red that pooled out over the floor. Squinting, the man thought he could make out black clad legs, and he realized that not all of the red belonged to the coat.

Feeling slightly ill and even more disturbed, the vacuum cleaner salesman shook his head and walked away. He wondered what on earth could have possibly caused such a ridiculous and violent scene, but he had a feeling that he'd be better off not knowing.

-end Misuse of Automail Transmutation 2: You Ain't No Automail Mechanic

Misuse of Alchemy 6 in The Misuse of Alchemy Series

Next week: Misuse of Dextrose Metabolic Transmutation

Notes:

Big thanks to ZaKai, as always, and also this time to New Light/Dark Light for helping turn this into something decent.

[1]If you don't know why "Nobelium" is the best safe word ever, you haven't read ZaKai's "Blind Obsession", and you are DOING SOMETHING WRONG.

[2]I have always been bugged by this: How the hell does Ed get his arm to go back to normal if automail is supposedly so complicated? Is it just like a "Reset" button? There's no way it's that easy, right? I mean, otherwise all alchemists would be putting automail techs out of business.

And what's with the "he has to clap his hands to make a circle"? ONE OF HIS HANDS IS GODDAMN METAL ANYWAY. Wouldn't he have to make a circle using his actual body? If he has no hand, but the metal is still there, can't he just tap that? In fact, if it's "all is one and one is all" and Circle of Life Mufasa in the Clouds bullcrap, why does he have to make a circle at all? The circle is in him, right? There is no spoon, Neo. That's why he can do alchemy without transmutation circles, right? Couldn't he just click his ruby slippers together and do it, or just think about it and Third Policeman Box it? (a prize to anyone who gets that reference) Can someone please explain this to me? Is it just too much fridge logic?

They're both slightly older than in the manga/anime. Roy is 31, Ed is 17.

I went from BDSM yaoi lemon to random silly violence in one fic. I have lost all sense of thematic control.

What does Ed's mangled automail arm look like after he tries to transmute it? I have no idea. I totally phoned that part in.


	7. 07: Dextrose Metabolic Transmutation

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of erotic fanfiction involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

By Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Full Metal Alchemist or any of the characters in it. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Yaoi (failed Havoc x Ed, rocky Roy x Ed, dash of explicit Roy x Al), alcohol consumption, adult language, humor, PLOT?

This one's for Amethyst-eyed Koneko. You have helped give birth to a demon.

Author note: I did say that all of these "parts" would be one-shots. I fully intend to keep it so that any one part in this series can be read on its own. However, I do have an overall 'plot' in mind for this thing. Don't put too much stock in it. Also, NONE of this series will be in chronological order. Finally, I was pretty wasted when I wrote most of this...

Misuse of Alchemy 8

Misuse of Dextrose Metabolic Transmutation

Summary: Revenge is a dish best served with copious quantities of alcohol

Jean Havoc hoisted the full mug of beer high into the hazy bar air. A combination of the object's weight and the man's lack of balance made his arm wobble. The amber liquid in his mug sloshed, cresting over and down the side of the massive glass. Havoc smirked a set of yellowed teeth, chuckling like a goof.

"Cheers!!!" Havoc enthusiastically raised the ruckus shout, for the umpteenth time tonight.

"Yeah, yeah... cheers..."

Not bothering to get out of his seat, Edward Elric hardly raised his own mug; his face and tone an obvious contrast to Havoc's enthusiasm and mirth. At 19, the alchemist was still a little short, and with the tall, tobacco binging man standing above him, his glass came far from close to touching Havoc's.

Havoc frowned just a little, but then—remembering what he was doing and who he was with—giggled a little and lowered his glass to crash into Ed's. "CHEERS!" Havoc bellowed again.

_I fucking swear_, Ed thought to himself darkly, _if that guy makes me cheers him one time, I'm emptying the entire bar on his head, sticking his cigarettes into his pee hole, and going home._

It was not Ed's first time in the officer's club; a large, hastily constructed brick building located near the main barracks in Central City. He had been allowed entrance and the low-grade alcohol rationed by the Budget Department long before he'd reached the standard 'age of adulthood' in Amestris because of his status in the military. But Ed tried hard to not make a habit of coming to the place. It wasn't just that he only rarely enjoyed drinking. It wasn't just the smell of dried yeast scum. It wasn't just the shitty drinks. It wasn't even the poisonous fog of cigarette smoke that choked the room.

"CHEERS!!!" The reason, sitting across from him, answered the rallying cry from a comrade at a nearby table. A few other drunkards echoed the creed.

"Come on, Ed! Drink up! Whass wrong? You pussying out already?"

Ed didn't come to the officer's club because Jean Havoc always hung out there.

"Whass that!? Come on! Tha's not how ya drink!" A hand tilted Ed's glass up, ensuring the beer would end up either down his throat or all over his clothing. "Come on! Too much for ya?" Ed hated backing down from a challenge. "That's righ'! There ya go!"

By the time Havoc let go of his glass, half of its contents were gone. The place they now resided reacted adversely to the sudden invasion, and Ed cringed and made a face as the sickening feeling of being stuffed full with too much useless, bubbly liquid made his stomach clench. He felt bloated and slow, and he was getting pretty drunk now.

Havoc laughed at the face Ed was making. He reached out across the table and smacked him on the back. "Oh? Too much?" Havoc gave him another stiff smack on the back, then, leaving his hand there, began rubbing the alchemist above his jacket. The touch and the ballooning cramp in his stomach caused Ed to growl. "Not too fass' now! Don't want ya gettin' so drunk, ya pass out!"

Knowing this statement to be entirely false, Ed grabbed the groping hand and growled in rebuttal, "I'll be fine." He gave Havoc's hand a mean squeeze—somewhat wishing he still had automail so he could earn a broken bone or two—and lifted it off of him. He narrowed his eyes at Havoc, who was smiling stupidly and staring at where his hand met Ed's. Ed spoke, "At this rate _you_'re going to be the one who ends up passing out and pissing his drawers." Ed pulled his hand back quickly, automatically reaching for his mug.

"Hahaha!" Havoc laughed, far louder and harder than humor warranted. "Sure, sure! But if ya drink even _half_ of what I do, I'ah have to carry you home and put ya to bed!" Havoc leaned forward, tried his best to put on a seductive face, and said in a low voice, "Or you wanna come 'ome with me anyway?" His hand stroked Ed's leg beneath the table.

"Keep dreaming," Ed spat nastily, kicking Havoc in the shin with his shoe.

As Havoc cursed and rubbed his wounded boo-boo, Ed nursed his drink and thought to himself, _This is why you never agree to go out drinking with a guy who wants to screw you. _Ash from Havoc's cigarette fell, and a bit of it got caught in the blond stubble of his beard... _Who's a slovenly dope without a sense of tact... _Ed added on.

It wasn't that Havoc was ugly. He wasn't exactly... handsome... not by a mile... Ed had seen him shirtless at the gym before—Havoc's planning, no doubt—and had to admit the guy was pretty well built. But, the fact of the matter was that he and Ed had absolutely nothing in common, and Ed preferred guys who could challenge him intellectually—and sexually—guys with somewhere in the area of two to three times the brain power and finesse that Jean Havoc did. The fact that Havoc smoked like a chimney on steroids and always looked like he'd just finished sleeping in a trash bin didn't help the man's cause.

"Hey now!" Havoc shot him an angry look, face betraying his wounded pride. "No need to ge' feishty. Doncha forget tha' _you _were the one who wanned to come out with me!"

Oh, the terrible irony... After all the times Ed had refused Havoc's invitations and advances, for him to be the one to ask Jean to go out drinking was mortifyingly tear worthy. _All because of that fucking two-timing, manipulative piece of shit_. By which, of course, Ed meant Roy Mustang. Beer was consumed spitefully amid the recollection of the event that had driven Ed to use Havoc as a prop to strike back against his sometimes lover.

"Hey, yo! Hey you, w—waiter guy! Yo! A'other beer! Hey! YO!" Havoc was occupied, at least for the moment. This left Ed free to indulge you, the reader, in the back story that set this scene, and will likely be a chapter sometime later, maybe. I don't know if I can handle continuity in this thing... Note. This breach of the fourth wall brought to you by whiskey. Whiskey! Drink it while writing and see what kind of random shit ends up in your fanfiction folder the next morning!

It had happened three days ago, when Ed had gone over to Roy's place unannounced, letting himself in with the spare key the man had given him. He'd noticed the orgy of sounds only a few steps into the apartment: the creaking bed frame, the rattling head board, the slick slapping of flesh, the pants and moans. That wasn't too uncommon. Ed and Mustang's relationship, if it could be called that, was more than a little bit "open". Mustang didn't have the reputation of being a playboy for nothing, and Ed pulled his fair share of tricks as well.

Ed had turned to leave when it had happened. A voice had rung out and frozen Ed mid-step. He then had heard Mustang saying something in a low tone, followed by a pleasured cry, the unmistakable sound of a butt being slapped, and then a very, very, _very _familiar voice crying out to "Fuck me! Fuck my nasty pussy!"

It hadn't been the fact that it'd been a male voice issuing those words, and it hadn't been the words themselves, either. Ed knew that Mustang loved his dirty talk and role-play, and that guys were as common targets as women for the general's sexploits. It had been that Ed _knew _that voice.

And when he'd heard it again, Ed had instantly bolted into Mustang's bedroom, where the man was pile driving a moaning and squirming Alphonse Elric... wearing tight, frilly, pink stockings...

Al was still only 17!!! And... and... he was _his brother_!!!

"Hey, yo! Yo, Ed!" Havoc had two fresh mugs of beer, one in each hand, and was waving them in front of Ed's face, breaking the poorly placed, ill-delivered flashback. Havoc shot Ed a loopy grin and pushed one of the mugs in front of the brooding blond. "Come on! You've been stewin' in your sauce all night now! Ya know, whatever it is that's eatin' ya, it doesn't do no good to think about it so much, especially when you're drinkin'." Havoc held up his glass and gave Ed a grin. "Cheers?"

Ed smiled despite himself, replacing his now empty glass with the one offered by Jean and raising it up. "Cheers," he said, clinking the mugs together. For all his shortcomings, and they did number a plethora, Havoc wasn't such a bad guy. Ed took a long drink.

"And, ya know," Havoc said again, eyeing the heavy chugs Ed was taking. "There's somethin' else that's pretty good for gettin' your mind off of things."

There was the goddamn hand on his leg again. GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!

Ed was about to shoot back with something nasty and demeaning, something in the vein of Havoc's cigarettes being representative of the size of something else the man focused too much time on, when the bubbles in his guts became too much. Mouth full of beer, Ed tried to swallow, burp, and curse off Havoc all at the same time. The result was an embarrassing bout of spluttering coughs, earning Havoc's hand patting him on the back again.

"Guess ya still a kid after all!"

_Then why the fuck are you groping my leg every chance you can get, you smelly slob?_ Ed wanted to say, but didn't have the chance. Instead, he coughed one last time, then made to brush Havoc's hand away once and for all. But he didn't have the chance to do that either.

Sitting back in his chair, Havoc made a face, then started to stand up. "Be right back," he told Ed. "Gotta drain the beast, if ya know what I mean." He winked to follow up his cheesy line with even more boorish idiocy.

Seeing his chance, Ed got up too and said, "Actually, I'm getting a little tired. Think I'm going to call it a night." He would never again go out drinking alone with Havoc. It had been a bad idea from the start. He'd only done it to get back at Mustang.

"Hey, hey," Havoc lightly grabbed his arm. "Now, come on. Is's still way early."

"It's almost one in the morning," Ed pointed out, removing Havoc's hand from his body for the billionth time. Drunks were so clingy...

"Whass it, pas' your bed time?" Havoc shot back. Jean Havoc wasn't entirely a fool. He knew the best way to control Ed was to challenge him. But Ed wasn't going to fall for that tonight.

"I have things to do tomorrow," Ed said, largely a lie. He did have plans to meet up with Fletcher Tringham for a study-session, but other than that...

"Oh ho, sure you do!" Havoc called the bluff well, but then squirmed a little and looked from Ed to the corner where the bathrooms were, back to Ed.

"I do!" Ed said simply. It was just a waiting game now.

"And... don' ya wanna..." Havoc attempted, looking more uncomfortable.

"No," Ed dodged. He knew Havoc wouldn't be able to wait long.

"Ah' least lemme get a cab for ya," Havoc offered.

"I'd rather walk, thanks," Ed turned it down.

"Then I'll walk with ya!" Havoc was getting desperate.

"I'm not your girlfriend." Ed was getting mean.

Havoc leaned forward again, that awful mix of cigarette stench and beer breath overpowering. "Wanna be?" Havoc asked. The image of his brother in those pink stockings, face twisted to the side, rock hard cock poking out flashed unbidden through Ed's mind.

"No," was all Ed said.

Havoc's face fell for a second, then he frowned angrily. He seemed to want to say something, but seemed to need to go to the toilet even more. He took a step away from Ed, still looking pissed. "Fine," Havoc said, hurt rejection evident. "Do whatever you wan'." He turned and went to the toilets.

Ed let out a frustrated sigh and began to make his way towards the exit.

"Leaving so soon?" a familiar voice asked, just loud enough to get his attention. Ed turned, sending the nastiest look he could muster at a smirking Roy Mustang. "It's still early," Mustang commented with a flourish of his watch. "And it was just getting good, too!"

Ed swallowed the hundreds of obscenities that came to his mind and asked instead, "How long have you been eavesdropping?"

"'Eavesdropping'? _Me_?" Roy faked just enough shock to draw the maximum amount of fury out of the pretend gesture. "No, no, no. I just came here to enjoy a drink!" He lifted his half-finished glass, a whiskey on the rocks. "And," Mustang continued, "I've been enjoying it since it first became apparent that your _little_ attempt to make me jealous wasn't going so well. Which was a good few hours ago, I suppose." Mustang's pleasure was painted clear on his face.

"You twisted son of a fucking whore," Ed cursed in a breath.

"That's me." Roy raised his glass in salute. But then the man narrowed his eyes and, drawing himself up a little higher in his chair, shifted his tone to something Ed seldom heard him use except for when they were alone. "But even if you're not in uniform, Fullmetal, you are still to address me as 'general', understand?"

The command, and the way the general had delivered it, sent shivers down Ed's spine, making him reply without even thinking, "Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir, what?" Mustang demanded.

Ed grated his teeth, temper boiling. If they weren't surrounded by dozens of military people, Ed told himself that he would be beating the living hell out of the man. But that wasn't something he'd truly do, and knowing it made Ed even angrier with himself and with the man sitting in front of him.

"Yes, sir, _General_," Ed ground out the last word with loathing that would've made a puppy whimper.

"Good," Mustang grinned devilishly. "Now, if you would like to _run away_ back home, feel free."

The urge to kill was within spitting distance of its peak level.

_He was __not__ running away!_

Ed turned, grinding his boots hard enough to break the floorboards. He stalked back towards his table.

"Have a good night." Roy raised his glass, sending a hollow toast towards Ed.

Ed sat down at the table with all of his and Havoc's empty beer steins. Thoughts too dark and graphically violent to be recorded went through his mind before Havoc sat down again, looking more than a little surprised that Ed was still there.

"You' ah... still ere?" Havoc stated the obvious as though it took a profound effort to understand how it could be so, which it did.

"Yeah," Ed said, displeasure more than evident in his tone.

Havoc frowned, seeming not to count on such a simple reply. The two of them were silent amid the general din of the beer hall before Havoc chuckled to himself a little and said, "Guess yah hot for me affah all, huh?"

Amestris scientists worked around the clock to produce tank armor as thick as a drunk Jean Havoc.

Ed bit back the truth, considerably straining his discretion in the act. "Let's get a few more drinks." Ed decided. If he drank enough, maybe he could murder Mustang and get off with just a temporary insanity verdict.

This decision pleased Havoc, and he asked, "Ah'ight'. Some, huhhuh, 'foreplay' then? Whaddya wan'? Lageh? Ale?" He was starting to slur his words pretty bad now, and Ed could tell it wouldn't be long before both of them were wasted.

"Whatever," Ed shrugged. "Beer is beer." Havoc was drunk, but because of the difference in weight, the man could still out-drink him with ease. And as much as he felt like getting shit-faced drunk, the idea of being too drunk with a Havoc who was way too horny and grope-happy was enough to hold him back. "Lager, whatever. They're all the same."

"Now, now! Tha's nah true!" Havoc shook a finger at Ed. "Ale's got a bunch more akahol 'n it than lager." A light came on in the house that was Edward Elric's mind. "An lageh's got a ton more sugar!"[1] Jean delivered his lesson on beers with a great air of self-importance. "An', ya know— 'Ey! Where ya goin'?"

Ed had gotten up. He smiled at Havoc and said, "I'm going to get us drinks. What do you want?"

Havoc's face expressed confusion, and a few moments later his brain and mouth worked together to produce a statement in confirmation of that mental state. "Buyin' _me_ a drink?" He almost spotted that this was too good to be true, but his beer-slowed mind wasn't up for the task, and he said. "Ah lager, I guess."

"Lager, got it," Ed said, turning and walking away.

He didn't head to the bar straight away. Ed instead took a few turns, ending back at the table where Roy Mustang sat, sipping a nearly empty whiskey on the rocks. The man turned to him with a smile, but it was clear that he hadn't expected Ed to approach him so soon after their last confrontation, if at all.

"I want you to cover my tab for the night," Ed said before Mustang could come up with any smart ass comment that would make him want to backhand the man. He needed Mustang to agree to this. "I'll make it worth your time," Ed added in a hushed voice.

Mustang raised an eyebrow and frowned, wary. He said nothing. Ed knew the man was calculating the possible factors and potential elements behind the request, considering how best to answer. Ed didn't want to give him too much time. The key lay in making Mustang act on his toes and in hoping that eventually the man would make a mistake.

Ed leaned forward, whispering in Mustang's ear, "Listen. Don't think this means I'm forgiving you for anything. You had sex with my goddamn little brother; the least you can do is buy me a drink or two here and there."

"I don't—" Mustang began to protest, but Ed wouldn't give him a chance.

Ed had to be the Godfather.[2] "Twenty minutes, you and me, anything you want," he made Mustang an offer he couldn't refuse. The worst part was that Ed's body reacted to his words with a twitch of his sex. He became more than a little hard as he realized what kind of chip he was negotiating with. Ed hadn't intended to use sex as leverage, but here he was. He'd made the offer of his own free will, and now his body was getting excited at the prospect of seeing it fulfilled.

Mustang drained the rest of his glass, taking his sweet time. "_Just _you and me?" he asked. The man was always scheming to get Ed to agree to a threesome.

"Just us," Ed reaffirmed.

Mustang frowned, made his compensation, "Forty minutes then."

"Thirty," Ed drew the line.

"Done."

"Good."

"I'll let you know when and where."

"Whatever." Ed laid the final bait with a scoffing dismissal, turned to walk away.

"Oh, Fullmetal?" Ed turned back around. Mustang was holding up his empty glass. "And another whiskey for me."

Ed almost couldn't hide his smile, saying almost too quickly, "Yes, sir, _General_."

He saw Mustang narrow his brow at the words, but turned and left before anything else could be said. Ed made his way back through the officer's hall, taking a route so that Havoc couldn't catch sight of him. On a Friday night, the place was crowded and full of the usual revelry and drunken debauchery. People slurred drunken songs, raced to play drinking games, and a few were already bathing face-first in a pool of their own drool. Ed passed right by the bar, walking into the back room.

"Hey!" an angry voice barked at him, a small, red-haired man stalking up to him. "You can't come back here, buddy!"

Anticipating this, Ed immediately brandished his silver watch and said, "State Alchemist."

"Mother fucking State Alchemists," the red-haired barkeep spat.

"I know. We're the worst," Ed said, walking over towards what he wanted.

"Hey, buddy!" the barkeep yelled again. "You can drink it, but you gotta pay for it. State Alchemists too, alright?"

"Sure thing." Ed grinned full to swallow the moon. He stopped in front of a massive wooden cask with writing on the side. "Hey, this is lager, right?" he asked the barkeep.

"Huh? Yeah it is. What about it?" If you think you've had rough nights at work, you should count your lucky stars that you're not a bartender who has to serve military personnel.

"Put it on General Mustang's tab," Ed smiled, feeling the wood of the cask, oak.

"Huh?" the barkeep asked. "The whole thing?"

"The whole thing," Ed said. There were about 40 liters of beer inside. "Oh, and two—no, three bottles of the most expensive whiskey you have, and a big empty beer mug."

The bartender cursed, went away, and came back with three bottles of whiskey and the empty beer mug. Ed, who was still looking in concentration at the oak beer cask, took the mug and filled it almost to the top with amber lager. He set it down on another table, then turned and resumed looking at the beer cask.

The bartender said, "Listen, kid. I can give you the whole thing, especially since you say it's for a general. But it's going to take a while to serve all of that, okay?"

"Don't worry, you won't need to serve it," Ed said, placing both hands on the wood.

"Wha— Kid, look, it's a whole fucking cask of booze. There ain't no way—"

A flash of blue light cut the man off. He then let out a curse as he saw that the massive wooden cask had become a bucket of brown liquid and a small oak statue of Roy Mustang dressed in a leotard. The craftsmanship on the statue was excellent. Ed admired it for a second, then took a whiff of the liquid. He poured just a small bit of it into the mug of ale, topping it off.

"Hey now," the bartender began to protest, awe giving way to concern. "I'm still getting paid for this, right?" he asked.

"It's on General Mustang," Ed said, turning his concentration to the bottles of whiskey now. A flash of blue later, they were a normal-sized glass of concentrated kidney poison and a beautiful bowl.[3]

"And can I get a mug of lager? Normal," Ed asked the bartender. The bartender answered with a string of obscenities. Ed added, "Oh, and there are two guys out there who are pretty sick. I think you'd better call an ambulance, just to make sure."

"You State Alchemists are motherfucking devils, you know that?" The bartender shook his head and stalked off.

"No such thing as the devil." Ed grinned to himself. He took a sip of the transmuted ale mixture that made him grimace. He went to the sink, dumped half of it out, and filled the rest with water. Mustang's whiskey, he left as it was.

After another minute, the red-haired barkeep came back with a thing of beer for Ed. Instead of handing it over, though, he said, "Listen, kid. All of the stuff is charged to the general's tab but... That beer, or whatever you did to it, that's okay, but that whiskey..."

Ed knew he had to take a chance and did. "The whiskey is for Mustang."

The bartender gave a nasty, devious grin, handing Ed his beer. "The ambulance is on its way." He went to the door that led back out to the bar. "Oh, and kid? You didn't see me back here, okay?"

Ed gave a smile and a nod. The bartender left. Ed brought out the three drinks.

Havoc and Mustang awoke the next morning in a hospital, both of their penises in terribly uncomfortable catheters, both of their heads throbbing with hangovers bordering on legendary.

-end Misuse of Dextrose Metabolic Transmutation

Misuse of Alchemy 8

Notes:

[1]In the most general terms, of course, lagers tend to have more sugar, less alcohol. Of course, it really depends on the way they're brewed.

[2] A reference to Mario Puzo's The Godfather. "We're gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."

[3]Yeast produces alcohol by metabolizing simple sugars (Dextrose) into two primary by-products: ethanol and carbon dioxide. The carbon dioxide (CO2)is released into the atmosphere, and the alcohol remains. Because the CO2 has left the liquid, the beer becomes less dense. The more sugar the yeast metabolizes, the higher the amount of CO2 that is released, and consequently the higher the percentage of alcohol.

I have no clue what this would mean or how it would work with whiskey. Totally cut corners there.

"We can't stop here! This is plot-bunny country!"


	8. 08: Misuse of Aqueous Alchemy

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of (humor) oneshots involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because it's funnier with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Adult language, semi-explicit mentions of yaoi (Roy x Ed), gross poop stuff

Mercy Flush

Misuse of Aqueous Alchemy

Misuse of Alchemy 8

Edward Elric grunted and twisted his hips in strained effort. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a soft huff of breath and focused on his inner sphincter muscles, pushing and constricting them. After being brutally, enjoyably corn-holed by Roy Mustang's considerable cock for five of the last ten hours, getting those muscles to contract to anywhere near their normal projectile power was going to be tough.

_One day I'm going to turn the tables on him!_ Ed thought in vexation. Not that he didn't enjoy sex with Mustang. Enjoy was an understatement. But Ed was an adventurous soul and it wasn't really in his nature to be submissive or deferential, part of what made his weekend trysts with Mustang so exciting... But the thought of one day having Mustang squirming and writhing under _him_!!!

Ed's smile flipped into a tight line of lips. He pushed with his ass and was rewarded only with a loud, wet fart. All sound and fury. He let out another rush of gas, bubbily rustling over the sticky lubricant that was absolutely scraped into the walls of his guts. Ed was glad he had the shower running to provide a cover for his gaseous geysers. _One day..._

Minutes passed, and Ed was still stuck on his current obstacle. Or, rather, his current obstacle was stuck _in _him. He really had to lay off of those cheese snacks...

There came a knock on the door, and Ed nearly jumped off the porcelain pony he was idling upon. Before Mustang could say anything, Ed hollered, "Hey, you fucking mind!?"

"I thought I'd quickly use the toilet while you showered," Roy Mustang's voice expressed a slight irritation, but unmistakable mirth. There was a pause, then a smarmy, "But it seems you just like to run up my monthly utilities to provide background music."

"Oh go piss in your oatmeal!" Ed snarled. He wasn't taking any shit, literally.

Embarrassed, Ed was still glad the shower was running, likely drowning out Mustang's mocking chuckle. He wished it could drown out his voice entirely when Mustang said, "Do try to be out in the next hour or four." Ed clenched his teeth so hard that he almost produced stool. "Not only would I like to have the option of relieving myself in my own apartment before midday, but I am also genuinely afraid you might slip and fall in."

Ed tensed and began to curse fit to burn a demon, but a burning of a different rank suddenly produced a shudder down his spine, and he was finally achieving a bowel breakthrough. Once the loggerhead was through, splashing thrillingly like the first frog hopping into a morning pond, the rest came almost easily. Too easily, in fact. Ed closed his eyes and let out several awkward grunts of relief as he gave the inside of Mustang's toilet a tree-trunk camouflage. The absolute rush of pumping gush and surging stool overwhelmed Ed's small frame, and he shook like the dog in that Alkaline Trio song.[1]

It was like entering excretion ecstasy.

It was the stench that brought Ed back to the land of the living. Absolutely disgusting. The floaters settling and his body feeling a solid ten pounds lighter, Ed stood up, a small sheen of butt sweat glistening on the seat where his muscled ass had recently reached Richter scale seismic shudders. He turned and his mouth dropped.

If poop were gold, marauders would be fighting for centuries about the map to Roy Mustang's apartment. That is, if the lid could be shut... and a lock fitted around the toilet bowl. Ed had a sinking feeling that that toilet lid couldn't be shut.

Panicked, and well aware of Mustang anxiously waiting to use the bathroom, Ed did the first thing that came to his mind. It was the simplest thing, and it brought the brackish sludge water four-fifths of the way up to the brink of the brim. The water came in, but in only; and every boy for Danny could hear those pipes from miles around. [2]

Ed cursed. His pants were pooled around his ankles, and he eyed the toilet paper. There was no way he could add that to the mess. He coughed and wrinkled his nose. God, it stank. Ed opened the top of the toilet and began fiddling with the tank, to no avail. Somehow, a tiny bit of water had drained, and Ed tried to flush again, this time watching with the tank open. There just wasn't enough water coming in to do the job.

Roy knocked on the door. "Everything alright in there?" he asked suspiciously.

"YES!" Ed said, voice cracking in panic.

Ed could almost hear the man thinking behind the closed door. "Ed, let me in."

"Hell no!"

"I'm getting the spare key.."

Oh fuck fuck fuck!

Ed's mind was racing furiously. This was beyond embarrassing. He cursed and went back and forth between barricading the door, at least wiping his backside, or trying to do something about Mount Elric Jr. He had to clean up this mess fast, get it to flush some—

The idea came to Ed in a flash.

"Ed? I'm coming in." The concern in Mustang's voice would have maybe touched a soft spot in other conditions.

In his present condition, Ed was thinking about water density. If there wasn't enough water, he could channel in more from the pipes, condensing it so that it didn't flood the entire apartment. If he drew too much, they'd be swimming in poop bricks. If he made the water too dense—

Ed heard the knob wriggling, the door swinging open. He clapped his hands and thrust them into the top of the tank.

Roy Mustang opened his bathroom door at the precise moment where the tile floor cracked and gave way, swallowing his toilet, and a shouting Edward Elric whole.

-end Mercy Flush

Misuse of Aqueous Alchemy

I wanted to do something with poop that was absolutely gross. Sorry for all the ridiculous alliteration and toilet humor based puns.

[1] The song is ' Radio ' by Alkaline Trio. The lyrics are 'Shaking like a dog shitting razor blades'. Yeah, every time that song comes up in Winamp I'm like "what a lovely visual image! I think i can go another hour now before i could possibly enjoy food!".

[2] "Oh Danny boy. The pipes, the pipes are calling."

Really want to hear what people think about this one.


	9. 10: Misuse of Textile Transmutation

The Misuse of Alchemy series

a Full Metal Alchemist based collection of (erotic) oneshots involving the misuse and abuse of alchemy.

Because sex is better with an alchemist!

by Masamune Reforged

Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. If I did, you'd bet there'd be more porn of it.

Warnings: Yaoi (just a little explicit this time), angst, one-sided love, cross-dressing, incestuous undertones

Beta: ZaKai

Author's Note: Al is 17. Takes place before Misuse 07 (but, as always, you don't need to read any of these in any particular order)

Misuse of Alchemy 10

Misuse of Textile Transmutation

Roy x Al (mentions of previous Roy/Ed)

Roy Mustang set the nearly empty glass on the nightstand next to the hotel bed. He leaned back and shut his eyes, keeping down a yawn. The alcohol was starting to wash away the week's worth of weariness, but it was also making him sleepy. So many things like that in his life, too many things like that, things that cut both ways. And he waited.

Roy was not a man accustomed to waiting, not for things like this... Fighting the dull grogginess, Roy opened his eyes and began looking around the well furnished room, trying to find something to hold his attention and prevent him from nodding off.

He didn't have to search long. The light in the bathroom turned off with a click, and the door opened just as Roy's eyes rested on it. Roy's guest shut the door and took a few steps into the bedroom. Roy sat up.

Long white stockings came up well past the knees, stopping inches before the edge of the frilly, black skirt. Just the tiny patch of bare skin in between was enough to make Roy's throat suddenly dry. The skirt was hardly anything, ruffled silk clinging tightly to the supple body beneath it. Black gloves came up just to the elbows, and snowy frills adorned the shoulders of the tight, black shirt. Naked white skin peaked out of the heart shaped pattern cut into the center of the surprisingly muscular abdomen. Diamond earrings framed a face with prudent dabs of make-up. The sandy brown hair was tied back in a simple ponytail.

Roy wasn't sleepy anymore. The alcohol that had been lulling him to sleep now gave him a shot of lustful energy. He flashed a hungry smile.

"It's too small, isn't it?" Alphonse Elric whimpered, fidgeting uncomfortably under Roy's stare.

Roy didn't wince at the girlish mousiness, the dainty voice, the effeminate body language. It didn't matter any more how much of it was feigned, how much genuine. Al's sharp eyes were watching him with cat-like intent. Roy had a part to play if he was going to get what he oh so hungrily wanted.

"It looks perfect on you," Roy lied smoothly. Even with the frills masking the difference, the shoulders were too small for Al's body. The skirt was just a little too small, too, and it stuck out awkwardly where Al's erection was crammed into the red panties.

Al's cock was always hard whenever he dressed in drag.

Al brightened and stammered a little, but didn't protest. He ate up the praise with a coy smile that was becoming a veteran tool in his arsenal. How long since it had been fully heartfelt, that content smile? Al didn't say anything, and Roy knew the young man wanted him to offer up some more sweet words before he started drilling into the alchemist's body.

"Really. It looks very sexy on you," Roy said easily. That much was the truth. Alphonse was fire in a bottle, and the outfit was thrillingly outlandish. Alphonse's smile widened, sheepish but genuine now. He ran his gloved hands over his own body, and Roy knew the young man was getting off on feeling the women's clothing tightly wrapping around his skin.

"You look perfect," Roy lied again.

Al wasn't perfect.

"You're just saying that." Al knew he wasn't perfect.

Perfect was a few inches shorter.

Roy smiled. The game was never easy, but at least with Al it was consistent. "Fine," he admitted. "I am just saying that." Al gave an indignant huff to keep up appearances. "But only because you're so goddamn sexy that I'd say anything to get my hands on you right now."

Perfect had pure, shimmering blond hair.

Al smiled. The game was always easy, but at least with Mustang it was rewarding. "Really?" he asked. "Then tell me..." Al began walking slowly over to the bed. "What makes you think I'd want your hands on me?"

Perfect had a body marred with scars and machinery.

"Oh, I think you want it." Roy played it cool.

"I think you might be right." Al stopped a step from Mustang.

Perfect wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt and stockings.

Al leaned down and kissed Mustang teasingly.

Perfect would kill him if he saw him right now.

Roy growled. He made it sound like a sexy, frustrated growl of longing, but it was an angry snarl directed at himself. He had to stop thinking about Ed when he was with Alphonse. It just made it that much harder to enjoy himself. And it was wrong against Alphonse, too. But Roy never could. He reached out and grabbed the glass on the nightstand, emptying it.

Al seemed to sense that something was wrong, but he just stood there. He wouldn't say anything, wouldn't ask. He didn't need to. Al knew.

Roy swallowed heavily and put the glass down. He caressed the young man's side, working his way slowly up to his chest. The material from the costume felt smooth and cool. Al leaned into the touch, mindless enjoyment covering up the concern and swirling thoughts, but only for now. Roy pulled Al toward him, but the young man held back.

"You _are_ sexy," Roy whispered.

Al leaned in teasingly to Roy's touch, kneeling onto the bed. The fresh scent of his shampoo was intoxicating. "How sexy am I?" Al demanded.

Roy shut his eyes for a moment and said, "So sexy, you melt the fangs of every white tiger in Xing into fluffy little cucumbers." It was stupid. It was a grossly over-indulgent lie. But this was just a game.

Al giggled, ran a gloved hand through the slight hair dusting Roy's chest. "Just from looking at me?" he asked.

"No, no." Roy shook his head seriously. "Their eyes popped out of their head and went to Creta to collect flowers for you when they heard about how sexy you are." Roy smirked, unable to hold back his mirth. It was OK to lie when you were only playing.

Al chuckled. Looking into Roy's dark eyes, he shifted his hips and lowered himself down to graze over Roy's sex. The man took a sharp breath and arched his hips, but Al sat back quickly, and Roy thrust up into nothing but bed sheets. Al grinned down at him, close now. "Tell me, Roy Mustang," Al said, words dripping seduction. "What kind of girl comes to a strange man's hotel room and makes him worship her with ridiculously silly words of praise?"

"The sexiest girl in all of the history of everything?" Roy tried. Really, this kind of game wasn't beneath him, but he didn't like doing it much. He wasn't very practiced at giving compliments. He didn't need to be.

Alphonse laughed a hollow, empty laugh, leaning forward and brushing his ass over Mustang's erection, eliciting a moan. Al slowly moved his hips, wriggling until he was completely lying on top of the man, faces just inches apart. He enjoyed the way the man struggled beneath him, body desperate to make contact with his own. Al could smell the oaken decay of whiskey.

"Do you think a girl like that is going to be a good girl?" Al asked. It surprised him how forlorn those words sounded.

Mustang didn't say anything for a moment.

"I don't want a good girl." The answer was wooden and stiff. The humor had evaporated and the patience had dried up. There was only thinly lubed desire and stony honesty. Mustang tried to kiss him, and Al let him. Ql suddenly felt cold

Al broke the kiss quickly, pushing the dark thoughts away.

"Tonight's your lucky night then," Al said through a forced smile.

"Yours too." Mustang pulled him back in, kissing him deeper this time.

This wasn't what he wanted. He would have it, and he'd be hungry for more even before the night was finished, but this wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what either of them wanted. They could never both have that.

Mustang's hand pushed at the hem of the skirt, snatching at Al's semi-hard sex. The other snaked into the heart shaped gap in his shirt, grabbing and flattening the nub of his left nipple. Al moaned and when his lips met Mustang's again, the hesitation was gone, along with the want. Al no longer wanted that other thing. Instead he filled himself with what was here, in front of him.

Mustang's sex stuck into his stomach, and the man's hands stroked Al's body.

This wasn't so bad.

"You're beautiful," Roy told him.

But it wasn't perfect.

Roy frowned. The game was never easy, but at least with Al it was consistent. Al had a consistent set of impossible demands for Roy to halfheartedly attempt at fulfilling. A modest supply of top-grade fabrics. Never-ending praise. Expensive hotel rooms. A rough, demanding style of sex. The last was easy. It was easy to be rough with someone when you had as much guilt to misplace as Roy did. At least Roy found it easy, that part.

They embraced, neither looking at the other.

Al frowned. The game was always easy, but at least with Mustang it was rewarding. Mustang had a range of whims so menial that Al could completely lose himself in neglecting them. A pedigree demand for easy conversation. Limited criticism. Cheap commitment. A frail, submissive style of sex. The last was easy. It was easy to give yourself completely to someone when you had as little hope of truly being loved as Al did. At least Al found it easy, that last part.

This wasn't so bad.

"You're so beautiful," Roy told Al.

But it wasn't perfect.

Al stood up suddenly, making Roy's eyes flash open in confusion. But when he saw that Al was just kicking off his shoes, the look vanished. Mustang turned and reached over to the lamp on the nightstand.

Keep it a game.

"No," Al cut him off, putting a hand on his arm. "Leave it on."

Best to just keep it a game.

* * *

Roy was still asleep. The man snored lightly and slept deep. He would probably sleep well past noon. They hadn't gotten to bed until hours past midnight.

But Al wasn't tired.

He turned the light on in the bathroom, shutting the door quickly so that it wouldn't disturb Roy. Al squinted at the sudden light, blinking heavily and quickly. His own image blinked back at him out of the elaborate, silver gilded mirror above the sink. Al took a step forward and examined his reflection.

Slight streaks from the make-up blurred his cheeks and below his eyes. His sandy brown hair was loose, catching in sweat dried patches down and past his shoulders. Tiny bites and bruises, some older than others, dotted the pearly white flesh of his neck. They'd been protested, more from revulsion at the sight of them than discomfort at receiving them. But Roy never listened when Al said not to bite.

"_You're so beautiful."_

Al turned away from his reflection. He sighed and stared down at the black and white clothing crumpled in his hands. He knelt down on the floor and began smoothing out the wrinkles with his hands, frowning at how the fabric never seemed to fully restore itself to its original form.

He found it on the right side of the shirt, in the armpit, a small tear in the black silk. Al sighed and fingered the tear, stretching it slightly. He knew he could just sew it up... but he didn't have the thread with him here.

Al considered throwing it away. After all, it was too small, and he had wanted to make a new outfit for some time. He also felt that Mustang was getting bored of seeing him in this one, though he'd only worn it three times. It was too small and it wrinkled too easily. The design was well done, but it hadn't been what Al had envisioned when he'd started on it.

It was far from perfect.

Al fingered the tear, and it grew.

But... no...

He wanted to keep this one.

Setting the costume down on the floor, Al clapped his hands together, resting them onto the fake heart cut into the thin material. The light from the transmutation flashed brightly, but quickly.

Al looked down at what he now held. He'd decided to change the design just a little bit, just the thickness of the white lace. The wrinkles were gone, and the tear had been mended.

Carefully, Al folded it and set it down.

It looked brand new, and beautiful.

But it was a slight bit smaller than it had been before.

-end Misuse of Textile Transmutation

Misuse of Alchemy 10

Note: Angst, fucking, city. God, it's almost too much, even for me... I dunno, but once I got going, I just had to go all out. Really interested in what people might have to say about this one.


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